The Long Game
by NotMarge
Summary: It was not the the end - merely the beginning. The game had much higher stakes now. Former allies turned deadly enemies. Their love had conquered time and space. Now with everyone and everything against them, will it be able to blossom or will this be the end of it and them? Summary courtesy of manaradel98.
1. Quiet in the Darkness

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I am really starting to enjoy writing for it though.

The Long Game

Chapter 1: Quiet in the Darkness

* * *

He lay quiet in the darkness, holding her.

He felt peaceful for the first time in over four hundred years. His wife had returned to him. She slept here now beside him.

He held her gently, an arm comfortably wrapped around one delicate, exposed shoulder. Her head rested against him as his fingers gently stroked her thick, wavy, dark hair. Their breath rose and fell in rhythm together.

He had draped a sheet over them, mostly her, to ward off the chill. Their unadorned bodies lay comfortably intertwined beneath it. They smelled of smoke and blood and destruction. Passion and love and consummated desire. All these smells together emitted a heady aroma to his sharpened senses.

Past lives, she had said. Yes, he supposed that might suffice for him. He vividly remembered living as Vlad Teppis. He remembered his beloved Ilona, his beautiful, gentle wife. He had loved her every day that she was alive. And he had grieved her every day since he had been forced to watch her burn, listen to her burn, smell her burn.

He barely repressed a shudder at the memory and the peacefully sleeping woman nestled closer to him, making a small sound in her throat. He brushed his lips lightly against her forehead and she quieted. Her fingers on his chest quivered for a moment, tickling him. A ghost of smile drifted over his countenance.

Mina. She was Ilona come back to him; that was true. But she was so much more as well. She was kind and intelligent, as Ilona had been, but this new day and age offered her opportunities to use that intelligence further than she would ever have been allowed to before. She was her own person altogether and he would not withhold that right from her.

If Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams, were real and gifting him with visions of all he desired, he could not have achieved more success. But then again, the Greek gods had been known to be finicky bastards who were not be trusted. He dare not admit his wary sense of hope.

He wished to speak to her in his true voice. The voice of Vlad Teppis. Would her soul recognize that voice echoing from across the centuries? And should he really use that voice? If he were to embrace this new life, his American voice would speak to Mina Murray, not Ilona from long ago.

Past lives, she had said. Might it be possible that this Alexander Grayson persona could be his new life? Only the parasite vampire Dracula inside held him back. That which could not be contained. He had refrained from consuming blood when he had been newly intoxicated with walking in the sunlight. He had attempted to fool himself into believing that he was a new man, no longer subject to his terrible curse. The results had been dismal to say the least.

He was not the demon, the monster. The demon, the monster, the vampire, the Dracula resided within him. It was not him. He remembered being simply Vlad Teppis. His original soul before they had torn it asunder and burned it to ashes.

She had given herself willingly to him last night with complete abandon in the light of his revelations. But what would become of them now?

He would move the heavens and earth on her whim. But how can a vampire move the sun?

Could he tell her in such a way that she would believe him, understand him, forgive him?

_Oh, Mina my dear, you should be aware: I am a four hundred year old vampire who shuns the sunlight. On frequent occasion, I must also drink blood and kill when I do so. Care for a cup of tea?_

No. Mina, this exquisite creature, would not accept that. She had disbanded herself from that insipid Harker because the fool had betrayed her trust with Lucy.

No. Mina would hold no quarter with his actions. What more would she do if he revealed the atrocities he had committed since being cursed by the Order?

After he had been cursed, in his rage and pain, he had made the entire countryside pay. As far he could reach his demonic fingers, he had made them pay. Impaling his enemies, striking fear into the hearts of any those dared to whisper his name aloud or shudder in fear at the thought of him. Creating more monsters like him. Making them all pay.

Until he had been caught and lay low to thirst in the earth below, trapped, unable to move. Left to languish alone in the dark and starve for blood, for life, for her.

And all the sins he had committed in the last fifteen years, righteously vengeful though some of them may be, would be unforgiveable to her. It would destroy her to know she had bonded herself to one so dark as he.

Yes, he must withhold the truth from her for her own protection. But did he really want to? Did he wish to keep secrets, to push her away? No. He desired to tell her everything. Lay bare all the ugly parts of his soul. Surely she, this fascinating mixture of Ilona and Mina, could find some way to wipe it all clean and absolve him.

It was lighter in the room now. The sun was beginning to rise. The burning sun, the wretched sun, the tantalizing sun, the punishing sun.

All this time, Alexander Grayson, Vlad Teppis, had been playing the long game. Every single move strategically thought out and put into play. And now with Mina Murray, Ilona reborn, beside him, he was at a loss as to his next action.

Her breathing changed and she stretched languidly as she began rousing from her slumber, pressing her body fully to his. He felt himself stir from her movements.

A smile played about his lips, entranced by her. She exuded life. She radiated life. She was life.

Raising her head, she smiled at him.

"Alexander," she murmured.

"Mina."

* * *

**Interested in more?**

**Thanks to sbenton1 for the prompt and manaradel98 for some new ideas as well.**

**Another inspiration for this piece is "Demons" by the Imagine Dragons.**


	2. In Remnants of Sleep

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I am really starting to enjoy writing for it though.

The Long Game

Chapter 2: In Remnants of Sleep

* * *

She lay with him, their unadorned bodies comfortably intertwined. His breath was her breath. Whether she had attuned to his or he had attuned to hers, she did not know. But here they lay. Quiet, peaceful, breathing together as one.

She drifted through the remnants of sleep. Her thoughts wandered by her and she leisurely considered their ebb and flow. What had she done? She should be aghast at her unseemly behavior. Falling into the arms of an older man, her former fiancé's employer no less.

But she felt the deep connection of their souls. It had been there from the beginning, at the first sight of him standing on those steps at the Geo-Magnetic Energy introductory demonstration. She had been unable to name it at the time, but it had been there nevertheless.

Attempting to refocus her romantic attentions on Jonathan even after he had proven so flawed so many times. Feeling drawn to Alexander Grayson in a way she could not explain. As if she had found someone she had lost and now recovered. She had tried to ignore the connection, the attraction.

But he had been there when no one else had. He had provided not simply a phonograph as she had requested, but a small orchestra for her devices. And when they had danced together in the empty hall, she could not deny she had felt the heat between them and their souls speaking to each other.

He never expressed doubt in her abilities. He comfortably engaged her intelligence and humor in conversation. He mystified her by exhibiting delight in the simple act of walking in the sunlight. He had tried to hide his emotions but she had seen them there, roiling just below the surface of his gentlemanly restraint. He had visited her in hospital. Bringing her roses. Making her laugh. Watching over her. Always watching over her, it seemed. He loved her in a way that she did not fully understand.

He had rescued her from her captors. Denying it, just as he had denied his true feelings for her. That did not make it less true. She knew he had destroyed them, heard their dying screams as she lay helplessly strapped to that accursed table. And despite her gentile upbringing, she was tremendously glad they were dead.

When the Resonator demonstration was sabotaged, she had strived to help him until Jonathan had dragged her away, screaming for him over and over. After the explosion, she had experienced sheer horror at the thought of losing him forever. She had entered his darkened home just to be near his things, and in the quavering hope of somehow finding him alive.

The pictures of her. Not of her. Of Ilona. His wife of long ago. She understood so much more now of his initial infatuation with her. But still so little about how all this had come to pass. She had given herself to this man she knew so well and yet not at all. And it had felt right, it had felt good, like coming home. Like another piece of her soul falling into place.

Dreaming of Ilona. Always dreaming of her as long as she could remember. Sensing something she could not quite describe. Like a memory hovering just beyond her reach. Ilona, who looked just like her. Ilona with her beautiful face and always outstretched hand, forever reaching out to her. But why?

And now here she was, laying with her body pressed to his. Surrounded by the lingering aromas of the previous night. The smoke and ashes. The fire and the ardor. She could still feel the echoes of their bodies writhing. The welcome weight of him. And it made her tremble inside.

What was she to do now? How was she to proceed? This would be quite the scandal if and when found out. Her father would be mortified. Nearly as or more so disgraceful as the tryst between Jonathan and Lucy.

Her heart clenched and a small, soft sound escaped her throat. She felt a soothing touch from him that eased her anguish, allowing her to continue examining her thoughts with somewhat less pain.

What chain of events had brought this to pass?

Her best friend Lucy, always so close. Always the wild one, the playful temptress, yes, but this? She had professed a love for Mina that should only be between a man and woman. And Mina, appalled, had sent her away.

And Jonathan. Once she thought she had felt love growing between them. Then he had begun drifting away. Changing. Suggesting her medical career was only a distraction until she began birthing his children like a prized piece of livestock with no thinking brain at all? As if he had been indulging her in her fantasies all along as though she were a child.

She had given herself to him in the heady moment of romance and passion. But it had been a fleeting dalliance and he had withdrawn from her again to pursue what he considered his more important endeavors. His absence and disregard invalidating her pursuits as unimportant.

Disappearing completely after her attack only to take his comfort in the arms of Lucy. Upon her scrutiny, he had placed blame first with Lucy for pursuing him. As if he were incapable of making his own decisions to halt her affections or simply remove himself from her presence. Then he had blamed Mina for his infidelity, citing her apparent love for Grayson as an excuse. She could not deny her feelings for Grayson had been growing, but there was a distinct difference between feelings and actions.

And now she was here, in the arms of a man who claimed she had been returned to him from a past life. Which should have sounded insane, but the union of their souls was undeniable. She felt complete safety and companionship with him that she had never quite felt with anyone before. Her spirit calmed further from its angst at the thought of him so near.

She stretched her body as she began drifting from out of her reveries, savoring the touch of their warm skin together. She opened her eyes and raised her head to gaze at him. His expression of open love was so intense that made her heart swell.

"Alexander."

"Mina."

* * *

**Hopefully, this little "honeymoon" phase has been nice for our couple here. But nothing lasts forever, right?**

**Thanks to sbenton1, CherryWillow19, and deelove1 for your encouraging support and reviews. Thanks also to mandral98 for your eloquent summary and fantastic ideas. Thanks to XvideogamegirlX and PreppyVampire for your support as well. You are all just lovely.**


	3. Ghosts in the Shadows

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I am really starting to enjoy writing for it though.

The Long Game

Chapter 3: Ghosts in the Shadows

* * *

Mina leaned to kiss him and he gladly acquiesced, enveloping her in his strong arms. The moment seemed too peaceful and happy to be real. Her warm body, her light breath on his lips. It made him smile, a thing he had not been prone to do in over four hundred years.

She entranced him. A glamour had not been cast over her as might be suspected. No. In fact, it was he who had been spelled by her. By her movements, her eyes, her voice, her laugh. By the simple fact that she was alive. Living and breathing. And not burning.

There was much work to be done. His enemies and his allies must all be accounted for and put in order. But he brushed those insignificant tasks aside for another few moments just to bask in her glowing light.

For months he had watched her with Jonathan Harker. Knowing that Harker did not deserve to be with her. He had tried to give her what he thought she needed with Harker. He had watched her exhaustively. Desired her. Needed her. Refrained from her.

He had tried to let her go so many times. Knowing it was for her own good. Knowing that the existence of the parasite Dracula residing within him would only cause her hurt. But at the same time, he had also drawn her closer. Hiring that foolish Harker so that he may keep a relative proximity to her. To watch over her, provide what she needed. As a benefactor, so to speak. But he had only succeeded in wrapping her closer to him.

And now, by some miracle, he had her. And he feared this situation of his own creation would destroy her if she stayed near him. But he could not bring himself to let her go.

Master strategist though he was, he could not devise a plan for this new development. He finally had what he had desired for over four hundred years. Ilona returned to him, in the form of Mina Murray, a modern, intelligent, and entrancing woman.

And yet. He was trapped. Every move he made with Mina at his side would risk bringing about her demise. He could not bear to see the woman he loved destroyed twice. Not for him. But neither could he bear to let her go. Not just yet.

Gently disengaging from their embrace, she rose from their repose. He rolled over onto his side, facing her, bracing up his head with a crook'd arm. The fingers of his other hand absently stroking the soft fabric on the bed, where her warmth still lingered. He smiled again, watching her supple form move in the dim light. Standing before him, fully unadorned and unashamed, she smiled openly at him.

He wanted to be like that. He wanted to be fully exposed and accepted by her. Would she? He needed her to know, wanted her to know.

"I'm famished," she whispered. "I'd like a bite to eat before we . . ."

She bit her lip in suggestion, making his smile broaden, and finished her statement.

" . . . do anything else."

He withheld his answer, enjoying the pure sight of her for just a moment longer. Then he nodded.

"Of course. Anything you like."

* * *

Mina dressed swiftly and easily. She had no extra clothes so she donned and straightened the garments she had worn last night as best she could. She brushed her hair and tied it back. She felt slight embarrassment at her still disheveled appearance until her mind cruelly gifted her with the screams of the terrified people running from the Resonator building only hours ago. And the still bodies of the victims crumpled in the aftermath.

She hugged herself tightly at the horrid memory. She needed to go home, change clothes, and return to the hospital to aid her father and the other doctors in tending to the many wounded and dying that would surely be filling the hospitals. But first she needed to calm herself in the presence of Alexander Grayson.

Ever the gentleman, he had clothed himself a few minutes earlier and left the room to allow her to attend to her toiletries in private. It had clearly been difficult for him to leave her alone given her state of complete disrobement. She had laughed sweetly at him as he had slowly drunk her in with his eyes before closing the door.

Now she left the room, looking for him, seeking him out once more.

* * *

She found him in the foyer, lost in his thoughts, gazing into empty space. As though tracking the unseen ghosts move in the shadows.

"Alexander."

As she spoke his name, he seemed to come back to reality. He looked up with an expression she could not quite place. It both excited her and filled her heart with quiet dread.

"Mina, there's something I need to tell you."

"Yes?"

He paused, clearly battling some inner turmoil. She took a step toward him.

"Alexander?"

He opened his mouth.

"Mina . . ."

A heavy object thudded heavily outside the door and she jumped at the sudden sound. Alexander turned and warily approached the door. He opened it cautiously and she beheld a large shape just across the threshold.

"Renfield!" he exclaimed.

She ran to the door and saw Alexander's man Renfield laying in a crumpled heap. The morning sun had not yet touched his frame, but she could see that he was unconscious. She reached down and felt for the man's pulse at his neck.

After a moment, she exclaimed, "I feel it! He's alive! We need to ring for a doctor."

"No," Alexander stated, stepping out of the doorway and kneeling down. He grasped the large man under the arms and began slowly moving him across the threshold. Mina gasped as she saw blood.

"Alexander, he's bleeding! He may die if we don't ring for a doctor!"

"No!"

Something in his strained voice bade her listen. She did so, though her mind was rapidly filling with questions. Together, they moved him into the house. Alexander seemed to take an inordinate amount of his weight and Mina wondered how he could be strong enough to lift a man of Renfield's stout size. Her curious thoughts were disrupted by Renfield stirring in pain and groaning quietly. His dark eyes fluttered open briefly and she observed they were unfocused and bloodshot before they fell closed again.

They laid him in a quiet, dim room. After leaving to direct a maid to clean the spilled blood from the front steps, Alexander returned. He briefly considered asking Mina to depart so that he may attend to the damage done to Renfield. Then he realized she would take it as an affront and chose not to suggest it. He simply moved to the large man and unfastened his clothing, revealing his mutilated torso.

Mina gasped when she saw the weeping wounds in his stomach.

"Alexander! These are knife wounds!"

"Yes," he agreed grimly. "It would appear our man Renfield here has been involved in some sort of altercation."

"But who? Why?" She asked, appalled by the implications.

Alexander thought he knew just who.

"Most likely by the same deviants who sabotaged the Resonator," he conceded.

Mina asked no more questions and set her face in determination. Side by side, they worked together to save the life of Renfield. As they worked, they spoke in sharp, clipped tones to each other as medical workfellows. They moved quickly, efficiently. Renfield's blood smeared both their hands.

As they worked, he was dimly aware that his love and adoration for Mina Murray was growing ever stronger. No, she had not shied away from this gruesome task. On the contrary, she worked tirelessly and without compliant. She did not required constant reassurances or attention during this most crucial time. She was strong, competent, capable. She was beautiful. Clothed in dirty, stained garments and covered in the lifeblood of Renfield, she was beautiful.

And R.M. Renfield, Esquire did not die. Yet.

* * *

After Renfield appeared stabilized and pursued not to depart his mortal form, Mina excused herself from the room. She was weak and needed nourishment now more than ever. When she had eaten and felt strong again, she returned to Alexander's side.

He sat in a chair, staring into the flames in the hearth. On the mantelpiece above, stood the triptych of Ilona.

"Tell me about her."

Alexander cleared his throat and looked first at the triptych, then at her. Mina stepped forward, knelt, and took his hands in hers. He looked upon her, still feeling a sense of wonder, of disconnect from reality every single time she touched him.

"Please. Even if it is sad. Which it is. I can see that in your eyes. I must know. Please."

He took a deep breath and gazed deep into her compassionate eyes. He spoke slowly, reverently.

"She was beautiful. Inside and out. She loved me as I did not deserve. And I loved her with all my heart."

Mina smiled and nodded for him to continue. He averted his gaze once more to the burning embers of the fire.

"Once upon a time, I held some power in my region and went up against some very influential political men. I interfered their plans. They punished me by forcing me to watch her burn in their fires."

He felt his muscles tensing and reminded himself not to squeeze her slender hands too tightly. She let go of one hand and reached up to brush at his face gently with her fingertips. His skin relished her soothing touch. He forced himself to look into her liquid eyes again.

"Oh, Alexander, that's so terrible!" She whispered, her face full of shared grief. "Were they made to answer for their crimes?"

"Some. But not all. There are too many of them. I used to think that was all that mattered. Wreaking vengeance upon them, making them suffer . . ."

He voice trailed off as he gazed at her, feeling the warmth of her skin.

"And now you are here. You look like her and your spirit is like hers. But you are also more than that. You are Mina. You are different in ways that are intoxicating to me."

Mina smiled and leaned forward, kissing him. He returned it for the moment, gratefully savoring the taste and acceptance. When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to hers and spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Now that you are here, I do not know what to do."

* * *

**Well, it's my story and I say Renfield doesn't die. So there. ;)**

**Thanks to RKandee13 and Vintage101 for adding your support to this tale. **


	4. Of Absolute Love and Devotion

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I am really starting to enjoy writing for it though.

The Long Game

Chapter 4: Of Absolute Love and Devotion

* * *

"NO!"

He crouched in the snow, holding her closely as her lifeblood drained out of her, pooling around them both. She gasped for life and all he could do was hold her. He clutched her precious body to his, tears of misery and grief mixing with the gore smeared on his face.

The corpse of Abraham van Helsing lay to the right, drained dry of life-sustaining blood by the formerly undead Lucy Westenra. Her ashes lay scattered on the ground, laid low by her very own friend, Mina Murray.

van Helsing had attempted to attack him. Mina, ever the brave self-sacrificing woman, had stepped in between and caught van Helsing's cross blade that was meant for him. Lucy had appeared, ending van Helsing's life in a terrible rage and in desperate love, offered Mina the gift of everlasting undead existence. In response, Mina had drawn the cross blade from her own body and with a kiss, staked Lucy into eternal dust.

And now she lay dying in his arms. And he, he was helpless to stop it.

"Please, Alexander." She whispered so softly that the words were swept away on mourning, keening wind. "Please, Vlad."

He held her tighter, willing her not to die. She must live. Anything, anything, that she might only live.

"Please, my love. Do not let me die again. Please . . . I . . . I . . ."

Her breath caught in her throat. She clutched at him weakly, fighting for air.

"I can't lose you again," she gasped at last.

He shook his head in utter despair and stroked her face, unintentionally adorning her with her own blood. There was so much. So much.

"No. No, my love. I am here. I will always be here," he spoke with his true voice. The voice of Vlad Teppis. The voice she knew first.

His voice broke as did his heart, into a million, shimmering, brittle, black fragments to fall glistening upon the soft snow.

"Alexander. Please. Please help me."

He nodded. Yes, yes. Anything, my love. Yes.

"Vlad. Please. Make . . . me . . . like . . . you . . ."

Her request shocked him. To be like him? A monster? Who kills? Forever undying? Forever cursed?

He shook his head in desperate refusal.

"No, no. Mina, please. No. Never . . . would I wish. . ."

He shook his head, unable to continue. Her face crumpled further in pain and anguish. Tears slipped unbidden from her eyes, tracking salty courses through the grime caked on her face.

"Please . . . make me like you. We can . . . live forever . . . be strong together . . . no one could separate us . . . please don't leave me alone . . ."

Her voice trailed off as her eyes slipped closed. Her grasping hands finally lost their remaining strength and went limp. He caught a wilting, bloody hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"No! Mina!"

What meant to be a shout escaped as a murmur, an exhaltation of tormented breath.

"Please, Mina. The is all my fault. I caused all this . . . I . . . please . . . forgive me . . ."

She did not respond, her spirit wavering between this world and the world beyond the veil.

He could not live without her. He could not continue on, knowing that she had died because of him. Again. His selfishness. His hubris.

"Ilona . . . Mina . . . please . . ." he begged, helpless.

Only seconds remained. She was fading fast.

He felt them gathering around him. The ghosts, the ghosts of his many dark and bloody sins gathering. Watching, waiting for him in the darkness, gnashing their teeth in gleeful anticipation. They would consume him whole without her there to hold them back. There would no peace in the void.

Reverently, he drew back the matted hair from her neck. That long, slender neck. Yes, he had kissed it so many times to her soft cries of delight. With his lips, with his tongue.

And now, with great regret, out of absolute love and devotion, he kissed it again. With his teeth.

His long vampire teeth bit into her tender, milky-white flesh. A weak flow of blood welled into his mouth. The salty taste of her was delicious, exquisite. The lifeblood she offered filled his body with white light. Everything about it was perfection. Everything about it was Ilona, was Mina.

He drank of her pure essence and it was divine. Detaching as gently as he could, he tore urgently at his own wrist, blood gushing forth. He pressed it to her open mouth, horrified by what he was doing upon her entreaty. His blood mixed now with her blood, filled her mouth, running down her throat.

She convulsed. Her entire body seized and a feral sound tore through her dying throat. Her hands clawed at him and he held her tightly as his accursed poisonous blood ravaged her human body. Finally, she grew still once more. He wept quietly, holding her, stroking her hair, kissing her face, rocking her body ever so slightly.

She lay still in his desperate embrace. He bowed his head, trembling. He experienced both clawing fear and vast relief that it had not worked.

Stay with her. Yes, he would stay with her here until the sun rose and set him aflame. There was nothing here for him now. He would die now. He would die alone.

"What have you done?!"

He looked behind him and saw Jonathan Harker, standing some distance away.

"What have you done to her?!" he screamed again.

Tenderly, he kissed her smooth forehead for the last time. And lay his beloved, twice dead wife on the cold, hard ground, snow pillowing her precious head. He stood, turning slowly. And stared unblinking into Harker's eyes.

"Only what she asked of me," he answered.

His voice sounded empty, hollow. And it was. His body was an abandoned shell from which the creature of life had remorsely crawled away when the spirit of his beloved wife took flight from her mortal form.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he spoke again in that terribly vacant tone. "It didn't work. She is dead."

For a long moment, they stood facing each other. Then, Jonathan's eyes bulged and he stuttered in disbelief. Turning slowly, they both beheld her.

Mina. Standing. Calmly. Quietly. Ethereal beauty shining through the gore still painting her face. She took a step toward them.

"No. I am not dead," her lovely spoke with warmth and reassurance.

She placed a soothing hand on his arm, looking into his eyes. He glimpsed her long eyeteeth fleetingly as she smiled at him.

"I am fine."

She closed her mouth and looked away from him, toward Jonathan.

"Jonathan. Are you okay? Are you unhurt?" she asked, sweet concern coloring her words.

He stuttered, unable to look away from her. "Um, yes. Quite."

She walked slowly toward him. He looked as though he wanted to retreat but he could not command his body to respond. His entire muscular structure quaked, nostrils flaring and eyes wild. Unable to move or look away from her.

"Good," She stated kindly. "That is good."

Suddenly with a deep snarl, she lashed out to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled his height down to hers and took his neck. He struggled briefly, then with a groan, began dipping to his knees. She sank with him slowly until he lay flat out on the ground and she lay fully atop him.

She drank Jonathan Harker dry. And he watched on, in horrified fascination.

Rising and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the vampire Mina turned and faced her sire.

He stared at her. She was beautiful. She was radiant. She was alive. She was ghastly.

She stretched out her hand to him. And step by terrible step, he moved forward to claim his monstrous wife.

* * *

**And so, it has come to pass. What you have both dreaded and hoped for. Yes, I've heard you talking in my head. ;winks;**

**Thanks to you loyal readers who continue to follow this story. And t****hanks to Madalena for adding your support to this tale as well.**


	5. Even Monsters

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I am really starting to enjoy writing for it though.

The Long Game

Chapter 5: Even Monsters

* * *

He jolted suddenly out of his miserable repose. Entire body twitching violently, nodding head jerking up from the cradle of one hand. His chest heaved, his eyes burned with fire and unshed tears. He clutched at the fabric of the chair, nearly tearing it to shreds in his overanxious grip.

A soft chair. A flickering hearth. A dim room. No wailing wind. No stiffening corpses. No lifeblood pooling on the ground.

Alexander Grayson, Vlad Teppis drew a deep, shaky breath. Wiped a trembling hand over his clammy face. Felt his cursed vampire teeth exposed. Long, sharp, ready for battle. Concentrating carefully, he willed them back in and bade his heartbeat slow before it burst from his surging chest cavity.

"Alexander?"

That melodic voice. Her voice. Ilona. Mina. Her lovely voice cutting through the suffocating gloom. He looked up. She stood a ways off, near the doorway of the room. Just seeing her, hearing her voice, soothed his raging soul a bit. Just a bit.

He nodded slightly, still covering his lower face with his hand, willing it not to shake.

"Alexander, what's wrong?"

Advancing to his side, touching his unsteady hand with her soft one, Mina brandished a silver sword and shield of compassion and love. She placed herself between him and those who sought him ill, driving back the cursing, gnashing demons tormenting his wounded soul. He willed himself to look up her, though he did not, as of yet, feel worthy to gaze upon her angelic countenance.

Her lovely face was clean and clear, devoid of blood and gore. Her beautiful, blue eyes shone with concern for his current trembling state. As she smiled questioningly at him, he could see her plain, blunt, human teeth.

Simply a venomous dream? Or a prophetic vision, a portent of things to come?

"Alexander? Speak to me." she insisted calmly.

He managed an ill smile and spoke reassuringly to this woman to whom his soul was devoutly married.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

She perched on the arm of his chair and focused her attentions closely on him.

"Did you have a bad dream? I know men get those sometimes even if they don't admit to them."

His thin, unwell smiled eased toward a more genuine one at her gentle, accurate words.

"Yes, I suppose I did," he answered laconically.

She caressed his hand soothingly with her own. Not as to a child, but as to a beloved companion.

"Good," She said lightly. "I'm glad you're a man who will admit it."

He nodded again, relaxing a little with her gentle jest.

"I am glad to have made you proud then."

She chuckled softly. He smiled, but did not laugh. Not yet. But he did feel his heart growing lighter in the gloom. Then she grew solemn.

"Would you like to share it with me? I promise I won't tell," she whispered conspiratorially.

He smiled with his eyes, brushing the backs of his fingers against her silky cheek. Her eyes slipped closed momentarily, then opened to reunite with his. She was here. She was unharmed. She could walk in the sun.

"No." He answered decisively. "But I will say sometimes achieving what you desire most can be very upsetting."

She drew closer and he reveled in her warmth, her care, her life. She glanced into the fire, then back at him, appearing to gather her thoughts carefully.

"My mother died when I was very little. I missed her so much even though I did not know her very well."

Mina's face twisted for a moment and his heart ached with compassion for her loss. She continued after a moment.

"I had heard a children's story that if you planted magic beans during a full moon, they would grow into a giant beanstalk reaching all the way up to the sky."

He could see the beanstalk now, green and thick and leafy, stretching up through the billowy clouds. Framed by the beaming sun. The warming sun.

"And so when my father asked me what I wanted for my birthday that year, I told him I wanted magic beans from the market."

Tiny, delicate Mina. Long, dark hair bound in twin braids. Big, hopeful blue eyes. His heart swelled even as it clenched. He could see her so clearly in his mind's eye.

"He sat me down on his knee. When he asked me why I wanted magic beans, I told him it was so that I could grow a beanstalk that would reach into Heaven so I could visit my mother there. I told him I would be very careful not to stay too long and promised I would always come back to be his daughter."

A mournful sigh escaped his lips at her poignant, sorrowful tale. He reached out and stroked her hair even as she gifted him with a bittersweet smile.

"Oh, Mina," was all he could manage to whisper.

She chuckled briefly at her own childish folly.

"My father kissed me on the head that day and hugged me fiercely. Then he bought me a stethoscope so that I could learn to heal the sick and infirm. So that their children may not have to wish for magic beans."

They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the crackling fire. She kept her contact with him, still calming and reassuring him.

"I have no need of magic beans," he said finally, allowing himself again the momentary privilege of gently stroking her beautiful, wavy hair.

"You are all I desire and you are here now."

Her story had taken him out of himself as she had suspected it would and he began to feel calmer. They sat together, gazing into the flickering flames for a peaceful moment of time.

It would appear that sometimes even monsters have nightmares.

* * *

**Gotcha! ;)**

**Originally, chapters 4 & 5 were set as one. Then, I thought, nah, freak 'em out a little, yeah? Or did you see right through my shoddy ruse?**

**Well, I just couldn't help it. It was a birthday gift to myself and it was just too fun! ;winks;**

**So . . . what do you think?**

**Thanks to mrsnorthmanwannabe for adding your support to this story.**

**Also, thanks to Vintage101 for your glowing review. Hope you haven't changed your mind now I've revealed this chapter.**


	6. Pieces of Him

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 6: Pieces of Him

* * *

He trod absently down cobblestone walkways, dimly aware of passing buildings, people, things. His body seemed disconnected from his mind. His tormented mind that darkly mulled over when it had first begun.

When had the pieces of him first started falling away?

He had always known Mina could do better than him. He, a poor, lowly journalist for the Inquisitor. Living in a one-room flat. A hovel, really. Always forced to rely on women to care for him and take expenses for him. As though he were not capable enough to make his own way through society. Which he clearly was not. And Mina's airy acceptance of that was almost more that he could bear. The shame of it.

She had always had such high aspirations. A medical career. As a doctor, no less. What an unusual ambition for a woman. He had heard tell of such things, but never really thought it would come to complete fruition. He clearly didn't understand everything of which she spoke and was quite certain she was more intelligent than he, but he did manage a certain amount of charm to keep her engaged of him.

He had always known he was a bit on the tedious side. Lucy frequently had taken great pains to make it very clear with her slightly contemptuous demeanor. Until of course she had changed her tune.

But Mina. Her determined fire, her radiant beauty, her open spirit. Szabo had encouraged him to court her, propose to her. Had jested that they would be old before they married. But it had stung nevertheless. He was not good enough for her. He knew that. Had always known it.

But still, he loved her so. Though sometimes she vexed him. Her abject unlady-like regard to the various cuts she accidently inflicted on her person and the sutures with which she had sewn herself up had been a bother, an embarrassment. And her open, nay, gleeful talk about such matters was so unbecoming and inappropriate of a proper lady. He had tried to brush them aside for her sake. She, having grown up without a mother to teach her how to behave as a proper lady should.

Her open affections had always caused quite the stir. Hot blooded. Inappropriate. He had never really minded when it had been toward him. She created feelings that he struggled to maintain in a gentlemanly manner.

Lucy's outlandish behaviors vexed him less so because he did not expect anything from her. She was Mina's friend and a separate entity altogether that he could simply humor. But Mina was something else entirely. Mina, whom he loved.

There had been a clear attraction between Grayson and Mina since the first moment they had met. That much had been obvious. He had felt a certain sense of pride that she was so desired by all but belonged only to him. Many men were attracted to her and for good reason.

Grayson was simply behaving as a vulgar American by not hiding it as well as others. He knew of course he could never be as flashy or striking as Alexander Grayson. But there had been a certain amount of comfort in knowing that he and his countrymen were not as brash or unrefined as the earthy American.

And that's when it had all started. Right then. From the moment Alexander Grayson had come into their lives. Or more honestly they had walked right into his at the gala, he and Mina had begun to be pulled apart.

During the interview, he had decided Grayson was an egomaniacal, delusional visionary. Ranting about the people as a species and a higher evolution. Babbling nonsense about combining the old and the new worlds.

It seemed now that the man had been spewing nothing more than verbal misdirections and intentional poppycock. And he, he had fallen for the ruse like a gullible fool.

Grayson, always closed away from the sun. It had not been suspicious to him then, only eccentric. And of course being a journalist, he knew those with money had the proclivity, nay even the God-given right to be eccentric. Otherwise, people may not realize just how rich they really were.

He smiled a sick smile at the thoughts. So much, he had missed so much. All because he had been blind and desperate for an upward heave into success and a higher standing social position.

After his boss had so casually cast his achievement of interviewing such an interesting businessman aside, he had felt put upon once more.

To be so little. To always be so little.

It had made it easy to be swept away, seduced by Grayson and his job offer. Vice President in Charge of Public Affairs. An attaché, as it were, to the upcoming, lavish American Alexander Grayson. It had sounded oh so important. So mature, so noble.

Perhaps that was why he had readily jumped at Grayson's job offer. At a chance to be bigger, more prominent, more valuable.

And then to be offered a grand house, bought and paid for, and handed to him on a silver platter.

It had seemed like such a golden opportunity. A way to impress Mina, to win her admirations. To make himself a more suitable prospective husband for her.

He had tried to work it all out in his feverish mind, think logically, and reason through the pros and cons.

His instincts had warned him that it was too good to be true. He had even gone to Mina, spoken to her of it. She had brushed his concerns aside. Faithful in her absolute belief in him and delighted in his opportunity. So encouraging. So proud. She never gave a moment's doubt for his success. It had felt so good to be finally recognized and respected.

And so he must succeed. At all costs. So that she may be proud of him.

Or had she also been taken in by Grayson's flash and fame? Been blinded by his brash American ways?

Had he ever, truly, considered declining the offer, saying no to such an opportunity?

No, not really.

He had bought in to it all and sat right down at the feast table of the devil.

All it had cost him, in the end, was his soul.

Proudly accompanying the man Renfield on business calls. Seeing the mannerly mercilessness of his influence based on Grayson's authority had been gruesome to say the least. And completely exhilarating. The heady rush of power thrilled him. Never before had he witnessed or been on the same side as one with such absolute control.

Inebriated on sudden success and the welcoming prospects of the future, he had allowed himself to be swept up and caught away on a tide of pomp and self-importance. Just for once. It was time he had what he wanted. Finally.

His careless friends challenging him. And he had opened his mouth and voiced what he had always kept inside. The desire that he could care for her so that she may dedicate herself to more womanly pursuits.

A proper English wife, he had proudly declared in front of everyone. In front of her, quite by accident.

He had never meant to hurt her. Such a rubbish situation.

Grayson had involved himself again to bring him and Mina closer together, much to his chagrin. He had taken it at face value initially. Believing the man was acting as a mentor. Grayson had even garnered a sense of camaraderie, plucked at his apathy for the deathly dull wedding arrangements.

But that too had been a ruse. A ruse that had worked seamlessly.

He had thrown forward one last effort to capture her completely after their sudden consummation. To run away together. To elope. And she had denied it for the sake of propriety. He had tried not to take it as a slight. But it had been one, nevertheless.

The night of the engagement party, it had become so clear to him and everyone else in the room that there was something special between Mina and Grayson. The way they had touched. The way they looked at each other. She had never looked at him that way. Not once.

And when he could take no more, he had interrupted the dance to take his part. And Mina, his beauty, his love, his fiancé, his bride to be. She had swept herself away and he had been left standing, the fool, exposed before all.

The deterioration had continued in earnest. Upon interrogation, Grayson had not only admitted but even proven how he, Jonathan, was trapped in the web of deception and lies of General Shaw. And nothing would lend an ounce of credit toward the guilt of Grayson. It would all come down mercilessly onto him.

Things had begun moving so quickly. He had been isolated. He could see that now. Execution of it had been so perfect that he had only noticed it when the hangman's noose had started to strangle the life from him. And there had been no way out.

When the Resonator was declared unsafe to public he had been angry, but a little locked away part of him had smiled viciously at the affront to Grayson.

Grayson, who had seemed odder and odder as of late.

After being doggedly courted by the Order of the Dragon, he had gone to seek counsel from his old friend, Szabo. Confessed the sham that was Shaw's undoing and his rising suspicions that Grayson might be plotting against him. And his dear friend had presented him with a gun for protection. It was the last time he remembered seeing him alive.

He had even confided to Mina of Grayson's devious nature and actions. The rift between them had torn wider still in that encounter. Her first response had been to ask him why he continued to work for Grayson. As if this were all his blame. Of course, he could not tell her. He had implored her to withdraw from Grayson for her own sake.

Which of course he had come to find out later she had not done.

Mina, always with an excuse to step into Grayson's orbit, as if pulled by his gravity. She with her stubborness listened to no one's reason save her own. He had even raised his voice in a way most unbecoming of a gentleman because he knew, he knew that she was lying to him. And because he was too. To himself. To her. And the guilt was eating him alive. The entrapment of his situation was becoming unbearable.

When the Order of the Dragon came calling, all he could think of was that he had been played by Grayson. Grayson, who must pay. If he was now to be played by the Order of the Dragon, at least he could get his revenge whilst doing so.

And then of course with that terrible siren Lucy. Lucy, touching him, gazing at him, confessing feelings of love, and requesting forbidden kisses. So often was he ignored by Mina that though he did not feel for Lucy, it was an attraction to have someone feel for him and take time for him. Mina's studies and ambitious drive had always overpowered everything else in her life, including him. He had been jealous of it. Felt below her in some way.

It turned out he had been played at every, single turn. He had never once been in control, though he had been led to believe he was. He even suspected Lucy's actions may have been a consequence of Grayson's manipulations.

In the hospital, he had been there at Mina's side, waiting, wishing her well, loving her as best as he could. And even then the beast Grayson had once more taken control of the situation. Made her focus on him. As if she belonged to him all along. And so he had broken a little more.

Upon realizing his folly with Davenport, he had confronted him. How the man had spewed nonsense and sincere truthfulness of the situation! He had gotten so twisted up that he had pulled the trigger and murdered him. Only to find the lies were true. Mina had betrayed him with Grayson.

Something had turned over in him then after that. He had forfeited his soul and there was no turning back now. Broken, angry, and in pain, he had gone to what he thought was the only safe haven left for him. Lucy. She felt so good and he had felt so truly lost and wicked. He had given in to it all that night. And it had felt so good.

In the light of the next morning, he had fled his sin, forming an ice-cold structure around his heart to walk away from his unpardonable mistake.

And then his once dear Mina had come to him, asking why, why, why. Calling him a pig. He had tried to maintain, but he had been breaking apart. More pieces of him falling away until he could barely form a coherent thought. And finally he had told her why. Spoken to her harshly. He had even attempted to lay his hands on her. As much as his perishing soul had been tearing to shreds and dying, he had still pained to see their end so clearly.

He thought she had gone and it was finally over. But she had appeared again, as though to tear out his dying heart once more. Giving back the cross which had belonged to his mother. His dear mother, who would have felt such shame in what her son had become if she could only see.

He tried to reach out again to her. Cajole her, make her see the poison that Grayson was. Not for his own sake but for hers. And she could not see because of her misguided love for the monster. Her beautiful eyes had spoken the truth though her luscious lips betrayed her not.

He had gone to Grayson, played the fool, even confessed to the murder of Davenport. And the monster, had attempted to calm him, bolster him, encourage him. For the sake of the machine, he was sure it had been. But the experience had been humiliating, saddening, degrading. He had almost wished to take the oncoming sabotage back.

And he felt sicker than ever.

Mina choosing to attend the demonstration and him grimly glad. She would witness Grayson's failure and he wanted her to hurt. Though it could never match the pain in his dying soul, he wanted her to hurt. But it had all gone wrong once more. The failure he intended all to witness had been eclipsed by a disaster that had almost killed them both.

He had dragged her screaming from that devil Grayson to save her life and shielded her from the blast with his own body. After the explosion, she had still blamed him. Called him a murderer. Laid all the deaths of the innocents at his dusty feet. And she had been right. He was. Even his friend Szabo. He had killed them all.

He felt he was all out of tears, out of shame, out of grief. Out of feeling, out of emotion, out of regret.

Out of humanity.

All the little pieces of him were gone now. Broken into a million shards upon the rock that was Alexander Grayson.

* * *

**Ah, Jonathan Harker. I've shredded him so many times in my writing, poor soul. I thought just once I would try to present him with an ounce or two of compassion. **

**What do you think?**


	7. Attending Work

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 7: Attending Work

* * *

"Father!"

"Oh, Mina! Oh, I am so glad to see you! Are you hurt?"

Heedless of the constant rush of movement around him, Dr. Murray took a thankful moment to embrace his daughter. More than twelve hours since he had seen her last. Traipsing off to what would prove to be the doomed Geo-Magnetic Energy demonstration.

Releasing her, he smiled, so very grateful to see her here now. How he had looked with dread upon each body, each damaged visage. Fearing the time when it would be her countenance he saw. And now he felt a great swell of relief that his dear daughter was alive and well.

"No. I'm fine."

"Oh, my dear girl. Where have you been?"

"Well, I . . ."

"Doctor! We need you! Quickly!" a voice called out.

"Yes, yes. Of course. Mina, I . . ."

"I know. That's why I'm here. I want to help."

His face glowed with gratification at this magnificent girl child of his. Now an independent, intelligent, young woman. Oh, her dear departed mother would be so proud.

"Of course, you do. Thank you. There are so many, so many injured. They've called for doctors from all around London. And there still aren't enough hands."

"Go. I'll find my way. We'll talk later."

He nodded, squeezed her hand, and rushed off. Mina spoke to doctors who knew her and persuaded them to let her help. The attending work proved useful to distract her from her own growing questions.

How had Alexander survived the blast?

What had become of Jonathan?

How was she going to tell her father? He had told her to follow her heart but how would he react to where she had followed it?

How had this all come to pass?

Could Jonathan really be the cause of so much massive destruction?

Or was there more she did not yet know?

* * *

"Sir . . ."

The voice was weak, very weak, but most definitely alive.

He moved to Renfield's bedside. So large and imposing a man to be done in by something as small as a blade. He felt a sense of relief as Renfield blearily eyed him. Theirs was the most honest association of the last fifteen years. They each knew their own place and purpose within it without any secrets or deceptions.

"I fear . . . this is becoming a most . . . unpleasant habit, sir."

He smiled down at the man in the bed.

"Yes, you do seem to be forming some unhealthy habits as of late, Renfield."

"Yes, sir. We should . . . discuss that . . . at the next annual meeting."

He pressed a cloth to Renfield's already damp forehead.

"Renfield, what happened?"

Renfield closed his eyes again, attempting to gather his thoughts. Then he opened them and looked at his employer.

"van Helsing. I discovered him in his private laboratory. He was destroying all the equipment, burning research papers. He'd gone mad, I think. Stabbed me. Left me for dead."

The solar vaccine. The dispersion machine. Destroyed? He felt his repugnantly thick blood leaden further within his veins.

"How did you end up back here?" he asked, not unkindly.

Renfield was quiet, still. He thought the man had succumb again to sleep. Then he spoke.

"I don't remember, sir."

Someone surely had deposited him upon the doorstep. Such grievous wounds. He could not have managed alone. Someone who . . . knew?

"Sir. The . . . Resonator?"

He gently continued his attending work to soothe Renfield's injuries even as he shook his head in contempt.

"Sabotaged. By the Order. And Harker."

Renfield grimaced as he tried to draw deep breath.

"And Miss Murray?"

"Safe. Harker took her away from the blast. The one useful thing the man did."

Renfield nodded slightly, closing his eyes.

"And then she came back."

Renfield opened his eyes again, looking closely at him. After a moment, he spoke.

"I thought I saw her . . . she . . . helped . . ."

Renfield's limited energy was already draining fast.

He held Renfield's head up so that he could sip cool water.

"Yes. She helped save your life."

He laid Renfield's head gently back down onto the soft pillow. Renfield groaned in pain.

"Sir? What does . . . she know?"

He remained quiet for a moment, smoothing the coverings over the dark man's large frame.

"Enough to put her in danger."

The conversation had taken its toll on the injured man Renfield. Against his will, he began losing consciousness. His final words were barely more than a whisper.

"Sir . . . what is . . . the next . . . move?"

And then he was gone. His damaged body relaxed. Breathing slowing again, as his injured body sought healing sleep and respite from pain.

"I don't know, Renfield."

He sat watch over his man Renfield. Sat watch. And thought.

* * *

Mina worked methodically for hours. She had arrived by Alexander's carriage mid-morning straight from Carfax, forgoing her initial notion of freshening up. Her mind had been too overwhelmed with the implications of the past day's events to heed daily pleasantries. And now she worked, pausing occasionally for necessary drink and sustenance. She worked to help save as many lives as she could and ease the transition of those unable to continue on in this world.

It was late in the evening when she finally relinquished her duties to another. So many injured. So many dead. She felt numb with shock, grief, and helplessness. She felt exhaustion seeping into her bones. And so she disrobed her attendant's apron and cleaned her exposed, soiled skin. She left word for her father that she was leaving to rest and departed the building.

Outside she found, as if by magic, the black carriage awaiting her still. Mystified, she approached and spoke to the coachman in the driver's seat.

"Have you been waiting here all day?"

He shook his head, taken aback that the lady spoke openly to him.

"No ma'am. Just arrived back here an hour ago."

"Thank you," Mina said, smiling tiredly in gratitude.

The coachman barely managed to contain his disbelief at her unpretentious manner.

"Yes, ma'am."

She allowed the waiting footman to assist her into the carriage.

"Where shall we take you, ma'am?"

"Home, thank you. Then to Carfax," she answered without hesitation.

"Yes, ma'am. Very good, ma'am," he responded. Then bowed and closed the door carefully.

The tired Mina Murray sat back against the comfortable cushions and tried to relax as the carriage began its journey. A cleansing bath, a change of clothing, a bit of food. Yes, these things would do quite nicely to refresh her. Perhaps then she could think clearly and sort out her roiling thoughts and emotions.

* * *

**This is a bit of a filler/transitional chapter, but I wanted Mina to interact out in the world with "normal" people. Not like she was being "isolated" intentionally or unintentionally by Grayson, you know? Like a controlling relationship. (Those are bad, bad, bad. Trust me, I know.)Plus, he's always talked about how important her work is which I thought was awesome, personally. That shouldn't change just because everything else is does, right?**

**Continuing thanks and gratitude to sbenton1 and CherryWillow19 for your ongoing reviews. I appreciate your encouragement so much!**

**A****nd special thanks my mystery guest reviewer for pointing out an obvious flaw in chapter six regarding Jonathan's location and knowledge base. The mistake has been resolved as simply as possible – rewritten! Haha! **

**Now he's just wandering the streets. Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams", anyone? - Go ahead and reread chapter six with that in your head. Go on now. :)**


	8. Children's Story

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 8: Children's Story

* * *

He sat upright on the divan before the warming fire. Mina's head lay on his left thigh in an easy manner, her face turned away from him toward the flickering firelight. She lay on her right side, legs bent, left arm resting on the curve of her hip and right hand out, palm up, fingers grazing his left knee. He idly stroked her hair as he gazed past the flames.

Upon her arrival at Carfax some hours before, freshly cleaned and laundered, he had felt a rush of swelling joy at her presence. And desire for her surging through his body. Though she did not make mention, it was clear she was exhausted. After she insisted on checking in with her patient Renfield, he had suggested they take relaxation in the parlor. She sweetly voiced her appreciation for the consideration of quiet repose. She had fallen asleep thusly after some quiet discussion regarding her day at hospital. And now he sat tranquil, quite content at having her so near, so peaceful. So alive.

During the early evening, before her arrival, he had hunted in the low places of city. Loathe to feel the foul hunger pull at his core while Mina resided in his presence, he had sought out his own gruesome form of sustenance. Spotting a callous pimp savagely beating his bedraggled whore, he had fed on the vile man after dragging him away from the crumpled, bleeding woman. He held no illusions that his selection of victim made his deed any less heinous. But at least his hunger was satiated. And that particular woman would never be misused by that particular man again.

Mina stirred, turning onto her back. He watched her graceful movements, fascinated and hypnotized. Her modest pale blue and white bodice rising and falling gently with her restful breaths. Her legs moved under the deep blue full length skirt, shifting her knees to rest against the back of the settee.

Slowly she opened her eyes and gazed up at him. He smiled down at her and stroked her forehead lightly. Drowsily smiling back, she reached up, and caressed his cheek with her fingertips.

Then she grew solemn.

"Alexander?"

His fingers continued to absently meander through the dark waves of her hair.

"Hmm?"

She hesitated for a moment. Then she spoke, lowering her hand to rest on her slender middle.

"These . . . monsters. When they came and . . . burned Ilona . . . what did they do to you? Surely they wouldn't just let you go after committing such horrible atrocities upon your family."

He sighed deeply. He had known from the first time he had looked into her bright, intelligent eyes that she would eventually ask the question. And he had known that he must answer her when she did.

And so he began to speak slowly. Quietly. Regretfully. Honestly.

"They chained me up. Beat me. Then they punished me in the worst possible way."

She sat up and faced him. Focused entirely upon him and the words he was going to say.

"They judged me guilty of heresy. Excommunicated me from the church and God. Cursed me."

That night, that most horrible night. It would track him all the days of his life. He had fought so hard against them though he knew it was futile. Such was his nature. Never give up. Never surrender. To make them pay.

"They what?"

The stench of Ilona's burning flesh hanging in the air, her excruciating screams echoing still in his ears. Believing nothing could be worse than this, praying for release or death. For a way to escape the pain, be reunited with her again in the afterlife.

"They performed a profane ritual. Held me fast. Forced cursed blood into my mouth, into my body. "

The taste, the horrid taste of that blood. He itched for a drink from the crystal container on the table. Anything to chase away the lingering taste of that blood. He swallowed thickly.

"And then as I choked upon it . . . they slit my throat. Like a stuck pig."

Mina's eyes widen further still, unconsciously flitting to his smooth neckline, then up again into his eyes. Searching for truth, searching for madness?

"I saw a vision of Ilona before me in clothed in a white dress. She was unburnt. She was beautiful, smiling. She had her hand stretched out to me in invitation. I . . . crawled toward her, reaching out . . . calling her name . . . and then she . . . she . . . disappeared."

Tears shimmered in Mina's eyes, reflecting the ones that haunted his own. After four centuries, the razor sharp edge of that emotion, of that anguish had not dulled. Not one bit.

"I thought I would die then. But I had betrayed them badly, you see. Because I thought it was the right thing to do. They would neither allow me the continued privilege of humanity nor the peace of death. They denied it to me."

Darkness. Hanging in the darkness. His body feeling different, though at the time, he could not explain how or why.

"When I came to, the sunlight burned me. My body was stronger. And I craved . . . something different."

Mina carefully touched his hand, disbelief and confusion coloring her voice as she spoke in hushed tones.

"Alexander, what are you saying? I have seen you in the sunlight. We walked together."

He smiled grimly.

"A scientific solar vaccine created recently by your Professor van Helsing. It is sadly . . . temporary in its effects."

Her brow furrowed as she remained quiet and still, staring at him. Struggling to comprehend the horrible meaning of his words.

"I threw my rage and pain upon the countryside for near three hundred years."

Mina's breathing shallowed, a frightful realization climbing up from the depths of her soul. But she could not accept such implications just yet. This beautiful, magnetic, intoxicating man was either mad . . . or a monster. But could it really be true? Such things were dark fantasy, not modern reality.

"Eventually, I was trapped. Entombed for over a century, hungry and alone, inside a metal box. van Helsing sought me out, unearthed me for his own devices. He needed me to take revenge on the men that destroyed his loved ones . . . and mine."

He dropped his eyes away from her and down to his own hands. Those hands so sullied with death and blood even now though none could be seen. Never to be washed away. Forever tainted.

"But, Alexander. What you speak of . . . is not real. It is a story told to frighten bad children."

He did not wish to do it. But there was only way left to prove the truth of his tale to her. And so he willed his vampire teeth to reveal themselves, slowly, within the bitter grimace of his mouth. Then he pricked his thumb lightly for her to see. She gasped, her face paling further as she watched a drop of blood well up from his skin.

"Alexander?" she whispered in horror.

He spoke through his fangs. Spoke in his true voice.

"My rightful name is Vlad. They made me what I am, Mina. And I have been this way for over four hundred years."

She drew back slowly, as if moving in a dream. He remained still, for he did not wish to see fear of an attack upon her face. Without taking her eyes off him, she stood without words, without breath. Then she turned and fled.

He let her go.

When she was gone, he rose, withdrew his long eyeteeth, and stood alone for a time. Distastefully wiped the drop of blood from his flesh. Poured a drought of amber liquid from the crystal container. Swallowed it down in a single gulp. And turning swiftly, viciously flung the glass into the fire where it shattered into the flames.

Then he went to attend to his one remaining constant, Renfield. And his shattered heart remained in pieces upon the parlor's cold parquet floor.

* * *

Mina ran out of the manor. Past the waiting carriage, past the men offering her assistance. Away from Carfax and Alexander Grayson. She ran. She knew not where she was running, only that she must make haste away.

She ran through the darkened streets, heedless of the shapes around her. As she ran, her body excreted a moisture mostly commonly known as perspiration. This smell was very faint, virtually nondescript to mere mortals.

Those with a stronger sense of smell however, caught her alluring aroma and followed her through the night. They were hungry and she smelled delicious. The fear and misery seeping from her pores only heighted their need, their lust.

As two of them drew closer to her, hissing softly in anticipation of partaking of her flesh, another figure appeared from the shadows. In a previous life, it had been a woman. Now it was a monster. Like them. This new creature was weaker than they, having been newly turned only days before. But she intercepted their advances with vengeance born of unrequited love and denied absolution.

They withdrew back for the time being and hunted for others not quite so protected.

And this female creature watched Mina Murray from a distance with its hungry green eyes.

* * *

**Grateful thanks to manaradel98 for your ongoing enthusiasm and support for this story. And to sbenton1, protector of the Renfield. I'm with you. ;)**

**And now to revisit someone you may have forgotten . . .**


	9. The Sorry Tale of Gabriel Hood

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 9: The Sorry Tale of Gabriel Hood

* * *

He ambled through the narrow alleyways, staggering with a decidedly forward motion. Perhaps a bit too much absinthe tonight. Ah, well, it would wear off eventually. It always did. More's the pity. Reality was such a biter. He only partook of it in limited amounts when he had to.

This absinthian tottered man, this Gabriel Hood, had a sorry tale behind him.

His mother, careworn by time and circumstance, had resided in a tiny one room flat in the lower depths of seedy London. With no one on which to depend, she had supported herself by sometimes selling flowers, sometimes selling herself. Too many children, too many mouths to feed. That was the way of it.

His father, the shiftless sot, had never really been around much. Showing up randomly to gift the children he must claim with the back of his hand and put more children in her belly. Right in the same room in which they ate, whilst the children lay shivering in the eves, cold under the roof. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, fingers shoved futilely into their ears.

As he grew bigger, he had tried to care for younger children while dodging the rough, hitting hands of the older ones. His mother had eventually caught pleurisy and he had tried to care for her too. But he could not heal her. Finally, desperate, he had rung for a doctor who had requested the money in advance. Of course, he being only nine, had none to offer. And so the doctor had left. He had spent many a long, dark, dreadful night of misery perched next to her, ineffectually blotting her brow and praying to a God who never answered. His mother had died.

After that, the older children had scattered on the winds and the younger ones were shipped off to the orphanages. On his third night as a ward of the state, a caretaker had crept to his cot and begun touching him in his secret places. Terrified, he had broken one of the man's fingers and run off in fear and shame. It had been the streets for him ever since. Better to be cold and hungry than degraded and debased.

Now a grown, intelligent, sly man on his own, he got his work as he could, his food as he could, and his women as he could. And of course, his absinthe as he could. He tried, in general, not to hurt people. Unless the situation really called for it. He did not shag women with children and he most definitely did not breed more children to be made to suffer in this miserable world.

So was life for Gabriel Hood.

* * *

Mina Murray ran until she run no more. And then she walked. She became lost without realizing quite how. And when she did realize it, she was not quite sure she cared. The streets she walked became narrower, dirtier, and she was dimly aware she had aimlessly wandered into unsafe lands.

As she turned a blind corner, she stumbled directly into arms of a vaguely familiar man.

"Oi, there! Watch yourself, yeah?"

He caught her even as she jerked back from him. Then he caught a glimpse of her face in the dim light. And she saw his. Average height and build, rumpled attire, mussed dark hair. Dark, probing eyes. The slight musk of an unclean body.

"You. I remember you. What you doing here, love? Need more absinthe?"

She moved back away from him and his dark, lecherous eyes.

"No. I . . . no. Excuse me."

She started to turn away, but he caught her by the arm.

"Come to see the animals at the zoo again? Or get close enough to . . . perhaps . . . _pet_ one?"

As she turned upon him, hand out to strike, he caught it easily and held it close. He saw her face was blotched as if she had been weeping. Poor little rich girl. What could she possible have to cry about?

"Leave me alone, you . . ."

He interrupted her with a shushing sound while inspecting her face closely.

"Now, now. How could you possibly think I would cause you harm? I offered to paint your portrait. Write you a poem. Besides, judging from those tears, there's another brute out there who's most assuredly not me."

She turned her face away from him and spoke sternly, as if to a child.

"Let . . . me . . . go."

He released his hold and she stepped away. Attempting to gain her bearings, she backed out of the alleyway and looked left then right, hesitating to move.

He crept up quietly behind her. So close he could smell her hair. Mmm, nice.

"Lost?" he whispered huskily.

She spun around, and as he saw her face, he saw she was on the trembling edge. For some reason, it cut through his coarse, absinthian haze and he saw his mother. She had looked nothing like this woman of course, but he saw his mother all the same. Eye blackened, lip split. Struggling to maintain her crumbling composure. And he had turned, with all of his eight year old strength, and swung at his beast of a father. The stout man had struck him down, broken his nose badly. He still carried the scar.

Gabriel Hood softened and spoke again to this woman. This uninjured yet injured, trembling woman.

"Look, let me help you get out of here," he offered.

She glared at him.

"I don't want help from you!"

He held his hands down peaceably at his sides.

"No. But you need it. Come on."

She eyed him with clear distrust. He didn't blame her. Still, there wasn't much time. A lady alone like this attracted too much attention. And he could only talk his way out of so much.

He gestured for her to follow and led her along to more traveled streets.

"So," he began after a few minutes. "Who you running away from?"

She hesitated, then said, "This is not an appropriate conversation."

He raised an eyebrow at her. No need for her to coy now, was it?

"Yeah, not an appropriate situation either. Who you running away from?"

She kept walking, looking straight ahead, and replied, "No one."

He huffed at her in irritation.

"Women, especially women like you, don't run away crying, unless they've got something they're running away from. What'd he do? Hit you?"

She didn't speak for a moment.

"No. He's never treated me with anything but respect and kindness," she finally said. "He's . . . he's not the man I thought he was."

Gabriel chuckled at her.

"None of us are, love. And none of us ever will be. But sometimes our women can help make us better." He snickered. "Or worse, depending on the woman."

She did not appear amused or willing to speak on the matter further. And so he guided her on in silence. After a time, he brought her to a worn hackney carriage. The driver sat on his seat and looked down his long, pocked nose at them.

"Hood. What you doing here?" his Cockney accent thick and heavy.

Gabriel gestured to the woman.

"She needs safe passage, Grady."

The driver eyed Mina openly from top to bottom and she felt exposed, uncomfortable. Then he spoke to Gabriel.

"Got coin?"

Gabriel shook his head. The man grunted at him.

"But if you take her where she asks," Gabriel offered. "I'll make it worth your time. I know . . . people."

The driver continued to frown for a moment, then grinned with his rotting, brown teeth.

"Really? What sort of people, Hood?"

Gabriel glanced at Mina and hesitated briefly.

"Well, I'd rather not say in front of a lady. Be downright ungentlemanly."

The driver sneered first at him, then at Mina.

"You're carriage awaits. Mi' lady."

Gabriel helped her into the carriage. She managed not to flinch from his touch. He managed not to breathe her in again. Though he wanted to. Badly.

"Thank you," she said, swallowing her pride somewhat. "Is there any way I can repay your kindness?"

He bit down on his usual suggestive retort, looking at her. Then without meaning to, he nodded and spoke.

"Please don't come back here again. You're too good for our sort down here."

She was at a loss for words. He nodded again and turned to Grady, murmuring low.

"Not a touch, man. Then come see me. You know where. All the absinthe you can hold. Free of charge."

The driver nodded again and drove Mina Murray away from an ill fate. Watching the departing carriage, Gabriel Hood thought to himself that he had done a good deed and should be rewarded with a generous dose of absinthe.

He was headed back the way he had come when he happened upon another seemingly well-to-do lady.

Two in one night? It seemed unlikely and he was running low on gentlemanly manners. It turned out it didn't matter.

The creature before him was an exact opposite of the one he had just left the company of. This one had blondish hair and captivating green eyes. Colorful, alluring clothing. Familiar, she was. She looked boldly upon him with an open, suggestive smile.

"Oh my, I saw you rescue her. Aren't you just a proper champion tonight?"

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and suddenly he felt it was not in his best interests to pursue this particular woman. In fact, he was quite sure death would be visited upon him in spades if he did.

"Yeah, suppose so. Now if you'll excuse me."

He started to turn away as she flashed her eyes at him, arresting his attention. A silky, seductive edge crept into her lilting voice.

"Really? Just when I thought you were something . . . special. Deserving of a . . . reward, perhaps?"

Against any good logic and his damped senses calling out to him in warning, he advanced slowly toward her. As if hypnotized by those luscious lips, that creamy skin, that inviting gaze.

As he walked forward, she slowly matched him step by step, retreating into the darkened alleyway behind her. When she stopped, he met her and stood close. Too close for a proper lady's preference. She did not seem to mind. In fact, she reached out to pull him closer.

"Well, aren't you just . . . mmm . . . delicious?"

She whispered and he met her lips with his, quite unsure of what exactly was happening. She enticed him with her hands and lips just long enough to take his neck with barely a struggle. And then she drank him dry.

And so ended the life of Gabriel Hood.

* * *

Somewhere, in a lost, dark room, Abraham van Helsing sat alone and listened to the screams. The screams of his children. The screams of his wife. The screams of the man he had used to be before they had destroyed him. He listened to the screams and he drank.

He tried to drink away the screams. But they would not fade. On the contrary, they seem to multiply and grow louder and more excruciating. He drank until he could drink no more and slumped unconscious in a shambled state. His inebriated dreams were dark, bloody, and filled with screams.

* * *

**Well, I hated to kill off my man, Andrew Lee Potts (gosh, he's a cutie - most of the time), but it just seemed like the thing to do. I really detested his character here anyway. Sorry, sweetie.**

**Thanks to the loyal readers of this story, guests and members alike, for your encouragement and support. **

**Thanks to deelove1 and babyphoenixprime. Your reviews are great and so are you!**


	10. The Stone Man

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 10: The Stone Man

* * *

He sat slouched on the floor next to the grand fireplace as he had before in times gone past. Back pressed against the solid marble of the hearth, heavy crystal ampule of amber liquid clutched loosely in one hand. Legs and feet sprawled out in a most casual, ungentile manner.

Apathetic to the wrinkling of his fine, expensive suit. Apathetic to the ashy shambles of all his carefully laid plans. Apathetic to the punishing, seductive sun. Apathetic to all.

She was gone. She had asked. He had answered. And now she was gone. Forever.

So he believed, to the dust of his broken soul.

He took a swig of the amber liquid. Felt it slide down his throat into his empty stomach. It would never intoxicate him no matter how much he imbibed. But he drank it nevertheless.

It was then he heard it.

"A rare treat."

That melodic, clear voice drifting to him out of the gloom. He blinked heavily and looked up from the glossy floor, certain this must be another vision, another dream.

"Mina?"

Only his lips moved when he dared speak, hesitant to break this spell of her. Her here. Could she really be here? Surely not.

"Sunshine. 'It's a rare treat', you said."

Her voice trembled little as she spoke. But underneath the fragile emotional surface resided her enduring strength and unquenchable curiosity.

"Yes."

She finally materialized into his field of vision, lovely pale face still blotched from shed tears and emotion. Tears caused by him. Him and his monstrous curse.

"You weren't exaggerating."

He was wholly astonished at her presence. How was she here? How was this possible? He managed to respond to her, his voice low and husky.

"No."

She approached slowly. Tears gone now, her liquid eyes examined him closely. His blue-green orbs followed her every movement. Was she really here?

"You. A . . . vampire. You were truly grateful to be walking in the sunlight."

He did not dare move a muscle for fear that her lithe form would suddenly shimmer and dissipate as mystical vapors into the lurking shadows. It was all he could do to manage the beauty and compassion of her words.

"Yes."

Reaching the flickering firelight, she knelt modestly on the floor across him. Lowering to his level, as it were.

"And the night we danced at the hospital. Your hands were trembling. You hadn't . . . taken blood, had you?"

More of an honest statement than a true question.

He continued to watch her, as still as a stone man. Wanting so badly to believe she was really here.

"No."

Her deep, intelligent, questioning eyes searched his. And she spoke directly yet again.

"Why?"

What was this whispering faintly from deep within him? Could it be a tremor of hope?

"I thought I could stop. I never chose to be this. I wanted to be . . . human."

She was listening carefully. Considering his simple words. This cannot be real, he thought plainly. It cannot be. Cannot.

"Did it work?"

He relinquished the coveted sight of her, concentrating on the faint oscillations of the amber liquid within the crystal container he held.

And spoke only one rueful word.

"No."

Silence sat there between them, greatly pregnant with regret and sorrow.

"I took it from someone who had committed wicked deeds. If that helps."

His eyes moved cautiously up to hers once more. She was gazing into the flames, inspecting the apparitions only she saw there.

"It doesn't," she answered quietly after a long moment.

"No. I thought not."

The fire sparked and crackled, muffled by the thoughtful machinations of her churning mind.

"I have to go."

Her unsteady voice was quiet, yet resolved.

"Yes, of course," he answered, dead emotion beginning to burrow yet again into the rotting, rogue, pomegranate of a heart in his undead chest.

She stood once more and slowly walked away. He did not look at her directly, only watched her retreating shadow as it withdrew from him. He would not stop her. No matter the cost. She was free. She must be free.

At the archway, she turned and looked back.

"Alexander."

He gazed at her for the last time without speaking.

"I'm coming back."

"Why?" he asked after a moment, astounded.

She stood still, quiet, unmoving for a space of time.

"You belong to me. And I belong to you," she replied.

Then she walked away as his entire being thrummed in astonishment.

* * *

Rats. Rats. Rats ran all through her mind. That was all she could think of. Rats.

The carriage rolled on slowly. Mina Murray sat quiet and still inside, lightly swaying with the movements of the transport. Her thoughts dashed in feverish, random trails within the confines of the carriage as it moved through the streets of London. So distracted was she by the rats that she had quite forgotten where the carriage was heading. Such unimportant facts were of little importance to her just now. She was too engaged in watching the rats.

Dead rats. Living rats. Still rats. Moving rats.

How could rats so important at a time like this?

They were small rodents. Ran through the streets. Haunted the sewers. Hid in dark, secret places. They were not important creatures. They were poisoned, trapped, killed, fed to cats, used in science exp . . .

She gasped suddenly as if she had just broken through a watery barrier and inhaled life-giving air seconds before drowning. Her racing mind careened on, faster and faster inside the slow moving carriage. Pictures. Thoughts. Words. Rats.

Rats. Blood slides. Cheek cells. Microscope. Needles. Bottles. Red liquid. Medical bag . . .

Thoughts were converging in the far recesses of her brain. She couldn't quite see them yet. Not with all the rats running to and fro in chaotic droves. But the thoughts were there nonetheless. And they were important. So very important.

They were skittish little things just now. Scuttling away from her into the darkness as she turned to look at them. She could just glimpse their hazy outlines from the corner of her eye. Perhaps if she left them alone in the gloom, they would creep forward and reveal themselves in due course.

Her carriage rolled on through the dark night.

And Mina Murray sat within, heedless of it all, beckoning patiently to the rats.

* * *

**Well, it appears that all may not be lost after all.**

**So, what do you think?**

**Thanks to BabyPhoenixPrime for adding your support to this story.**

**By the way - if you're a timeline person like me, we're up to about roughly 24 hours since the season finale. 10 chapters for that little time? Insane, right?**


	11. Machinations in Empty Rooms

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 11: Machinations in Empty Rooms

* * *

Mina Murray stood within the lonely emptiness of the amphitheatre lecture hall. She gazed around the still, quiet room. Simple wooden benches circled the perimeter of the room in ascending configurations. Dusty light filtered in through the high set windows.

She had once felt so centered here, so focused on her work. So determined, so confidant in her chosen place in the world.

Blood traces still painted the floor where Alexander – yes, it had been him there was no doubt of that – had slaughtered the men threatening her. Their ruined bodies had never been found, but the blood remnants remained even now. As proof, evidence of his righteously dark deed.

And the table. That flat, wooden table where many a cadaver had awaited a surgeon's scalpel. That table upon which she herself had lain. Trapped. Threatened with a bottle of burning sulfuric acid. Threatened with searing, eating pain and permanent disfigurement by those terrible men. Why, she still did not know. She shuddered at the memory.

She left the haunting table behind and walked through the wooden doors with their glass inlays. And stood now in the inner office room. More blood stains here as well.

She sighed as she looked at the marks. Alexander. During the attack, he had dragged one of them from her sight. To save her further trauma. To protect her. While he ruthlessly destroyed the man. His screams, she could still hear his gruesome, dying screams.

How could a man so caring and protective of her harbor such a brutal creature within him?

And what might have become of her then if those dead men had attacked her in the light of day rather than at night when her dark guardian could protect her?

She moved deeper into the room, touching the remaining ampoules and containers delicately. There weren't many. Most had been removed. By him, she supposed. By Professor Abraham van Helsing.

van Helsing, once her mentor, once her friend. He had been a part of all this. But why? What had been his motivation for curing a vampire of an aversion to sunlight?

Alexander, Vlad. What was she to call him now? He had said van Helsing had unearthed him to bring destruction upon those who had murdered their families.

Another shudder. What sort of monsters were these men who viciously destroyed families? Who burned people alive? How could they so completely demolish lives and escape without consequence?

She looked around the room. The sturdy desk. The once-laden, now near empty cabinets. The cold fireplace where she had once sat with van Helsing and discussed her cheek cell experiment. She had, on occasion, stayed here for hours upon end, working, studying, learning.

Now it was an empty shell of a space to her.

Her eyes finally fell upon what she had come here to retrieve. Her leather bag. It still resided where she had set it before extinguishing the lamps on that fateful night. She had placed something within it that had seemed a forbidden curiosity at the time and now she knew was of vital importance. She opened the bag and reached within. Yes, it was still here. She withdrew her prize.

The clear glass vial. Its coded text and undulating red liquid within. Alexander's blood. Professor van Helsing had attempted to convince her that it contained a Sumatran parasite that attacked dead cells, seeming to reanimate them. It had seemed so far-fetched to her at the time.

She almost smiled. Almost as far-fetched as say a four hundred year old vampiric entrepreneur with a heart of enduring loyalty and love trapped within a body full of stolen blood?

She thought when van Helsing had suggested the blood contained a parasite that he had been telling a partial truth. Alexander, Vlad, this multi-faceted being, had the intelligent brain and emotional heart of a true man. The bloodlust creature inside him of which he could not rid himself was clearly something only governable for limited amounts of time. And the aversion to sunlight was completely beyond his control, though she had yet to witness a true display of its affects.

The hospital. After the attack, he had visited her there in the early hours and fled before the rising sun. At the time, she had been affronted that he would leave when she so clearly needed him. That something was more important to him than her desperate need for a stalwart companion in what she had thought was her darkest hour.

Only now was it clear that he had risked the burning touch of the sun to be with her only a short, but precious, time. She vividly recalled him walking away from her narrow cot and crossing through a shaft of morning sunlight. Casually turning his back in a movement so smooth it was hardly noticeable. But had it burned, had it singed? Even for a breath of time?

How much had he suffered just to be with her? Just for a chance to walk in the sun?

How could he harbor such an evil within him but still be capable of such good?

For there was, indeed, much good within him.

A demonic vampire forever cursed to the darkness who endeavors to bring free, safe, wireless light giving power to the masses? Even if what Jonathan had said was true, that Alexander was working to bring down powerful men, there must be easier methods than bringing light to those in darkness.

She looked at the vial. Had van Helsing used this blood to create the serum of which Alexander, Vlad, had spoken?

If so, how? And could she somehow replicate it, improve upon it? Cure his bloodlust and his aversion to sunlight? Was such a thing possible? Or was it simply wishful thinking? And how was she even to begin such an undertaking?

She did not yet know but she suspected the blood-filled vial in her hand held the key to his salvation, his freedom.

And so, she must try.

She crept back into the shadows to the hidden room beyond the heavy, red tapestry. It was unlocked and her heart sank with trepidation. She entered cautiously and found her fears valid and realized. It was still empty, cleaned out as it had been before. Nevertheless, she methodically searched it again. Hoping she had somehow overlooked a useful treasure. Searching carefully, futilely, as one will do when something precious has been irrevocably lost.

And, of course, there was nothing. But she still held the vial. And that was something.

So she left. Placing the vial safely in the depths of her medical bag and carrying it with her, she departed the inner room and firmly closed the door. Slowly, she climbed the steps leading out of the amphitheatre. As though ascending a stairway toward the heavens to plead mercy for Alexander, for Vlad.

Quietly closing the door to this room, leaving it for the last time now. A medical physician she still endeavored to be, but enter this room of blood and fear and lies again, she never would.

* * *

**Hello!**

**I simply could not write. I tried and tried. And everything was pure drivel. And today I sat outside with the warming sun on my face and my bare toes, watching the children play. Thinking of Alexander and how much he would relish this day with its bright sun and clear blue sky. **

**And I found I could finally write. A lot. **

**Am I crazy? Don't think so. Just finally thawing out from winter. And yes, I am well aware these characters are totally fictional. So what? ;) **

**And I really hope this is not drivel.**

**Thanks to Cloelius Princess, Mistress-Cinder, BabyPhoenixPrime, sbenton1, and GabbieDelenaAndKlayley for your wonderful reviews! I can't say how much I appreciate them.**

**Thanks also to wearetheliv1ngdead for adding your support to this story. **


	12. Alignments with Madmen

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 12: Alignments with Madmen

* * *

Jonathan thought he might find her in the amphitheatre lecture hall or the inner room where she had so frequently resided in times past. He had often suspected it was her sanctuary away from the rest of the world. Or perhaps just from him.

And so he went looking for Mina once more. To plead with her. To apologize. To attempt to talk some sense into her.

He passed through the empty lecture hall and into the inner room, heedless of the blood spatters that still dotted the floor. They were of no significance to him. That quiet area was vacant as well. But as he turned to go, he paused. Something pulled him deeper into the quarters and he discovered, quite hidden away, yet another room.

And so it came to pass that he did indeed find a person. Though it was not the one for whom he had been searching.

Her professor. van Helsing. The man stood in the dusty, secluded room with his back to Jonathan. On a table before him lay an assortment of various items including a medium sized wooden box. Only a fleeting glimpse afforded Jonathan a strange view of shiny cross-looking objects and a small book before the man closed the box and turned to face him.

Abraham van Helsing. Yes, he had sent word for Jonathan to meet him here. Jonathan had nearly forgotten about it in the midst of all his tormented musings. But something within his subconscious clearly had not.

"I got your message," he said noncommittally, covering his disappointment at this change of course.

"Mr. Harker," van Helsing said by way of welcome. "Please, have a seat."

No, no. He would not bend to formality. Not just yet. He felt he must remain standing and keep his exit way clear. For he saw there in the man's eyes a look of the dead. This man, surely born whole, now appeared hollow and bereft of any living soul. As Jonathan himself now felt. The surprise mirror image simultaneously called and repelled him.

"What can you tell me about Grayson?" he inquired, delving straight into the matter at hand.

The Order required information about Grayson for their own ends and he required information about the man of whom Mina had become so entranced. It seemed he might have found the one who could satisfy both purposes.

van Helsing sized him up for a moment, seeming to make a final commitment of some sort.

"Everything you need to know to destroy him," he declared finally.

Destroy. Good. That was a good word. Destroy. To ruin or make something useless. Yes. That was a good word indeed. For that was exactly what he desired to do to that devil Alexander Grayson.

"His name," van Helsing continued, ". . . is Dracula."

Jonathan stood completely still and allowed the utter impossibility of those words to slap him square in the face. Grayson? Dracula? An undead monster who could not withstand sunlight or holy relics? Who drank living blood to sustain its own existence?

It was a cruel tale told to frighten bad children. His own drunk of a father used to tuck him under his arm, alcohol oozing through his skin pores, heavy stinking breath in a cloud upon his child's face and tell him all about it.

"Look here, Johnny boy," he'd say. "You better straighten yourself up or tonight when the moon is full, that nasty creature Dracula'll creep in through your bedroom window while you're sleeping. And you'll not know a thing until . . . _snnickkk . . ."_

He'd thrust two fingers at the boy's neck, poking him with his ragged fingernails while the boy tried not to recoil. Recoiling only made the situation worse when his father was involved. It was counted as a weakness.

". . . he'll drink you dry," he'd whisper close to the boy's ears.

Then he'd release the near terrified lad and wander off, leaving Johnny boy alone to tremble and dread his solitary bed at night. Watching the shadows play upon the windowpane and praying for daylight until he fell into uneasy sleep haunted by frightful dreams.

His father. The Captain of the Guard.

He'd thought when he grew up, he would make himself into a fine, upstanding man. Marry a kind, lovely lady. And together, they would create a cozy family with happy children who neither feared their father nor the setting of the sun.

But now all those dreams had burned to ash.

The here. The now. The revenge. That was his wickedly hopeful dream, his one true desire. And now that desire was being twisted into folly by the whim of a madman.

"Dracula turns into bats. Are you saying that Grayson can turn himself into a flying rodent?" he asked van Helsing somewhat sarcastically.

van Helsing rolled his eyes. "No. That's hogwash. He has no such power. That's absurd."

"Yes," Jonathan agreed bitterly. "_That's_ the absurd part."

Suddenly van Helsing launched himself at Jonathan, pinning him to the wall with his grasping, clenching hands. Jonathan's breath caught in his chest. He realized he was trapped, could soon come to harm here. Or die. And wasn't sure if he actually cared or not.

van Helsing spoke quietly, calmly. His words barely a murmur.

"Don't . . . mock me, Mr. Harker. I have seen things that cannot be unseen. I have done things that cannot be undone. And I will not be taunted now . . . by you."

He saw roiling madness in van Helsing, hiding its face behind a cracking mask of calm gentility.

Jonathan nodded as he spoke. "Release me, sir."

van Helsing stepped back slowly, ran a hand through his ruffled hair, and deliberately straightened his vestments.

"I understand your skepticism, Mr. Harker. But I can prove to you that vampires do exist and that Grayson is the first of them."

What a ridiculous ruse. He had seen Grayson in the sunlight. He was no vampire. He was only a man. Odd, yes. A diabolical devil, yes. But a _vampire_? Absurd.

And yet . . .

"Exactly how do you intend to prove this theory to me, sir?" Jonathan inquired.

van Helsing looked steadily at him, unblinking.

"We wait until nightfall. And then, we go on a hunt."

Jonathan could think of no other option available to him to get the answers he needed. And so he simply nodded his wary agreement. All the while wondering if he would ever manage to align himself with someone who wasn't a stark raving mad lunatic.

As van Helsing continued talking, quietly and calmly, he moved around the room. Jonathan watched him with all alertness, always keeping himself between van Helsing and the door. Ready at any moment for flight or fight.

Had he only waited a day to begin his search here, he have happened upon Mina instead of van Helsing. And no matter the outcome of that chance association, it would have been preferable to the one in which he found himself trapped now.

Fate, as it so happens, is not without a sense of the cruel.

* * *

**And so the alliance has been made, though you can see that Jonathan is not quite absolute about it yet.**

**Thanks to all the lovely readers, supporters, and reviewers of this story. I appreciate you so very much.**

**And yes, more romance shall be delivered unto you. In due time. ;)**


	13. Relinquishing Control

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 13: Relinquishing Control

* * *

Mina watched him, unnoticed, from the shadows. She observed that his hair was not slicked back as had been his usual as of late. Now its dark strands were more naturally kept, much as they had been the first time she had laid eyes upon him. A definite improvement, she surmised with a small smile. She continued watching him as he sat and stared at the newspaper that lay upon his desk. Without looking at this particular one, she already knew what the bold words read. "Dozens Dead, Hundreds Injured After Electricity Demonstration".

He slammed his fist upon it, handsome visage twisted in a rictus of rising anger. Though she had not read beyond the headline, she could only imagine the atrocities laid at the feet of the man in the chair by uninformed writers of the Inquisitor. She emerged from the shadows then and he removed his hand from the flat surface. Leaning back in his chair, he casually rested his hand over his mouth. She noticed he used this mannerism when attempting to mask his emotions. But she was not so easily fooled.

Calmly and without speaking, she gathered the newspaper pages, crumpled them, and promptly threw them into the nearby crackling fireplace.

"There. An improvement already," she said lightly.

Alexander had risen from his seat and was now anxiously walking the room. As the newspaper caught fire and burned, she sat herself, ankles crossed, upon the desk. How very unlady-like, she thought fleetingly with an inner streak of smirking defiance. And watched him walk.

"How do you mean?" Alexander grumbled, pacing the room.

He was completely failing to hide his anger from her as a proper gentleman should. She was overjoyed by the honesty of this new development. Hmm, more unladylike behavior from her. How very extraordinary.

She tilted her head slightly. "There are no more in this house, are there?"

He shook his head, still not looking at her.

"Good," she stated definitively. "So, as I said. An improvement."

He continued pacing. Finally, he looked at her. Not directly at her face just yet. But rather toward her general person.

"Yes, but there are more out there!"

He gestured at the outside world, pacing still. She watched him calmly, unjudgmental of his ire. Arranging her thoughts in proper order, she spoke.

"Yes. That is true. That being said, the explosion was not your fault. It was sabotaged by . . . outside forces. You tried to stop it. And you will find a way to address this horrible tragedy in due time," she answered with quiet assurance.

He continued to pace without looking at her.

"But they are not here," she stated plainly, emphatically.

She alit from the desk to the floor and placed herself directly into his current path. If his anger ruled him, he was more likely to make poor choices. Poor choices of which neither of them could afford the consequences.

"I, however, am," she said as he stopped, standing before her.

She stepped easily into his arms. He let her, instinctively enfolding her in his grateful embrace. He did not kiss her, not yet. But simply stood with her, hands clasped loosely about her narrow waist. His head was turned slightly to the side, staring blindly past the floor. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she gently brought his countenance back square with hers. He gazed upon her as she began brushing her fingers over his skin. Lightly caressing his forehead, his cheekbones.

As her gentle hands glided over his skin, his stern expression began to soften.

"Renfield's condition is improving," she said conversationally.

"Mmm . . ."

He slowly relinquished control to her, closing his eyes as she brushed her fingertips delicately across his dark brows, his silky eyelids. Running her fingers through wisps of his dark hair.

She continued her tender caresses, quietly delighting in his facial muscles relaxing at her soothing touch.

This man, this so-called monster, had been alone for so very long without companionship. Allies, yes. Renfield, his loyalty was absolute. Of that, she had no doubt. van Helsing, apparently useful for a time, yes, but always mindful of his own ends as well. Others she did not yet know. But deep companionship, someone to give him true, peaceful comfort. Of that, he had been without for so very long.

Alone in the dark.

"And night is coming," she continued softly.

"Mmm . . ." he murmured again.

His attentive ears open to her words, his blue-green eyes still closed at her touch. She ran her fingers along the paths of his carefully groomed mustache and goatee. Lightly over his lips. He remained still within her calming embrace.

"And you know what that means . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Opening his eyes suddenly, he looked at her with a confused, alarmed expression. She couldn't possibly mean . . . his hunger. . .

She leaned in closer, a gentle smile in her bright eyes and curving on her mouth before finishing her thought.

"Stars."

* * *

They stood in the inner garden near the white fountain. That open place to which he had once run, giddy as a freshly released schoolboy, to bask in the bright light of the warming sun. His first sun in over four hundred years. Now, that sun was gone. And darkness prevailed. Usually that darkness filled him with forlorn resentment.

But now. Here. Mina standing before him, back to him. His arms wrapped around her slender frame. Her arms atop his in mutual embrace. Her head cradled comfortably in the crook of his neck. She had positioned them in this familiar manner. Made her physical being deliberately vulnerable to him and his whims. And yet, somehow, she was still the one in complete control of this situation.

The forlorn resentment. For this moment of time, it was gone. And he simply basked in the light of her.

Together they gazed up at the night sky. There was no moon, no clouds. Which made the stars twinkling above them shine all the brighter with their simple, white, unburning light. Those stars held no warmth and were distant in the dark sky. But Mina's light shined brighter, enhancing them, making the them more beautiful. He had never stopped to consider the stars before. He had only looked down upon those whom he hunted. Never up at the beauty of the forbidden heavens.

She had made him see that.

"If there is a God up there, surely even He is entranced by the magic of this night," he murmured absently, nuzzling her skin as a man. Only as a man.

She pressed back against him, smiling, and replied softly.

"If there is a God up there, it was not Him who cursed you, Alexander. It was man and man alone. And if man can curse you, then maybe the curse can be undone."

He drew her tighter. Inhaled deeply, breathing in her sweet, clean scent. Gentle breezes whispered her soft, dark hair across his cheek, tickling his skin. He was still in awe that she was here. That she _chose_ to be here.

"Mina, what I am . . ."

She turned her head and looked him directly in the eyes. And cupped the side of his face with her hand.

". . . is a man," she finished for him. "A man with a monstrous parasite inside him. You, Alexander, are not the creature itself. Not unless you choose to be."

He tried again.

"But my . . . hunger. . ."

"Is not of your doing. There is hope for that too, Alexander. You must remember that. There is always hope."

She turned herself within his embrace to face him. He felt wonderment at her presence. At her words. At her soft, inviting lips as she kissed him. And he kissed her back. And as the kiss and their embrace deepened, he forgot about the beauty of the stars and allowed himself to become lost in the beauty of her.

Eventually, she led him back inside Carfax. To his bedchamber. They stayed there alone for some time. And in the end, with shared love and passion, it was she who took him. To his surprise and both of their pleasure.

* * *

**There ya go. Stargazing with Dracula. How's that for romantic? Oh, come on, I'd totally go for it!**

**Anyway . . . the stargazing section is inspired by phenomenal violinist David Garrett's rendition of "Music of the Night". YouTube it. Seriously, you won't be disappointed. The man can play like an angel or a devil depending on his selection. And the visual image is pretty good too. ;)**

**Thanks to Mistress Cinder, Cloelius Princess, and deelove1 for your encouraging reviews and support .**

**And as always, I am very grateful to you, the loyal readers of this tale. You keep this story breathing.**

**So . . . what do you think?**


	14. Close to the Vest

I do not own Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 14: Close to the Vest

* * *

He jerked out of his floating meditative repose with the monstrous hunger gnashing at his core. She lay beside him, soft and still and sleeping soundly. He watched her chest rise and fall with peaceful, even breaths for a few moments. And as he gazed upon her, he realized he was unconsciously looking for her exposed veins.

He fled out into the night away from her to hunt.

* * *

Mina woke alone in the darkness and took a moment to find her bearings. She felt the empty bed beside her and wondered where he was. Then she realized that she already knew. And with a shudder of revulsion, she drew the bed coverings tight around her.

She had known of course that she could not save him, her soul-bound lover, from his demonic hunger simply by hopeful wishing and displays of loving acceptance. Those things helped the man she loved but not the hungry, vicious creature within him.

She was a torn woman.

Part of her wanted to run away. From him. From the Resonator. Even from her father, for she knew he would disheartened by her choices if he only knew the truth as she did.

Another part of her whispered the same she had whispered to Alexander only hours before. That there was still hope. She had the vial of his blood and a scientific mind. The solar serum had been made before. Surely it could be made again. If only she knew where to begin.

It would come. The answers would come. She believed that. She had to believe that.

She resolutely gathered herself together with an effort of will and rose from the rumpled bedsheets.

* * *

Mina found her patient Renfield awake and propped against several pillows. His face was still sallow and drawn, but his alert consciousness strengthened the suspicion that this large man would not be so easily dispatched. Not so easily slain. Like a dark, powerful dragon of old.

"You're improving," she said happily, smiling at him. "I'm so glad!"

He nodded slightly.

"Yes, Miss Murray. It seems you saved my life. Thank you."

"Of course," she said warmly, approaching his bedside.

"It is regretful that you must see me in such an undignified state."

She huffed at him in gentle derision.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You're the most dignified patient I have ever seen. I doubt it is possible for you to be anything other."

He smiled at her gratefully then grimaced as she examined his bandaged wounds. When she was done, his strength seemed to be fading so she helped him settle into a more comfortable position.

"You're beginning to heal nicely," she assured him.

He gestured toward her.

"Yes. Under your care, miss."

She bit her lip, considering the implications of her next words.

"Renfield?"

Though he needed rest, she could not help herself. He needed to know. And she trusted him.

"Yes, miss?"

She kindly dismissed the waiting maid and closed the door firmly behind her.

"Alexander told me."

She approached his bedside and sat on the edge of it.

"And showed me. With his thumb."

Renfield's dark, intelligent eyes searched hers intently.

"Yes," he responded, after a moment. "Quite the show, I imagine."

Renfield's expression was unreadable.

"You have seen it, I presume?"

"Yes," he replied after another pause. "Upon our first meeting, he saved my life with it. And here more recently as well."

She was quiet, as was her patient. Finally, she spoke.

"He does not wish to be this."

Renfield just managed to shake his head, his strength now spiraling downward quickly.

"No, miss. They made him so. Against his will."

Mina leaned close to him to speak her secret aloud for the first time.

"I know. And I think I can help him."

Renfield's eyes locked onto hers.

"That would be . . . very good, miss," he murmured. "And how do you propose to do this?"

She quietly told him about the secret vial, the cheek cell slide, and her rat experiment. She told him of her discussion with Professor van Helsing and how he had tried to convince her of an untruth. She told him how she had eventually stolen the vial away just before her attack and then gone to retrieve the previous day. She told him of her hope of creating a new, more effective solar serum for Alexander.

She concluded regretfully with, "But as of yet, I have no idea where to begin."

He did not move throughout her tale. Nor did he interrupt her tale or express disbelief at her actions. When she had concluded her story, she felt a bit anxious as to his response.

Finally, he smiled.

"Miss Murray, it seems you are a quite tenacious and resourceful woman."

She raised an eyebrow to him and returned his smile.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Renfield. I'll take that as a compliment coming from you."

He nodded, his eyes intense.

"It most certainly is."

She thought their conversation had come an end and she started to rise from her perch. Renfield stopped her with a gentle restraining hand upon hers.

"It seems I myself have been a bit resourceful as well," he admitted.

She felt a flutter of excitement in her heart at his words. She waited with baited breath. He spoke again.

"I never fully trusted van Helsing even though he was already with Mr. Grayson when I came into their association. He seemed too, inconstant."

Mina leaned a little closer. "Yes?" she whispered.

"I have routinely snuck into his quarters unawares and copied his ongoing medical notes on Mr. Grayson with the most careful precision and accuracy."

Mina's eyes widened.

"Does Alexander know?" she asked.

Renfield shook his head slightly.

"No, I thought it best to play it close to the vest while their collaboration stood. I understand very little of the texts, but I suspected they might prove vital. My top priority has been to look after for the welfare of Mr. Grayson and thus I've kept a close eye on van Helsing during their partnership."

"Although," here he paused in his musings to lightly touch his bandages. "it would seem I was not quite watchful enough."

Mina tilted her head fondly at the man. She liked him so. Renfield continued.

"Now that is dissolved, however . . . and you are here . . ."

His voice faded for a moment as his strength waned. Mina gave him cool water to drink and he did so gratefully.

"Perhaps these notes and your vial may prove a starting point for your work," he concluded.

"Oh, Renfield! You are a wonder!"

Mina was so excited that she quite forgot herself and hugged him. Though he was caught by surprise, he patted her arm graciously while repressing a groan from his wounds.

"Oh," Mina drew back, still smiling. "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate of me, wasn't it?"

She chuckled sheepishly and then, looking into his face closely, sobered.

"Oh, Renfield. I've hurt you. I apologize."

He made a dismissive expression though dots of perspiration stood out on his forehead. Taking a cloth, she blotted his skin gently.

"I'm simply grateful that Mr. Grayson has found you who truly cares for him."

Mina nodded.

"And you, of course. You have looked out for him all these years as well."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, miss. And let me not be too forward in saying, he does not make it easy."

She laughed while holding Renfield's hand appreciatively.

"No," she agreed. "I expect not."

* * *

**So I'm on family vacay which is great but everyone is passed out asleep so I thought, eh, why not publish? 'Cause I'm gigantic nerd! Haha!**

**Thanks all who have given their support to this story, including a newcomer, Michelle-san.**

**Thanks as well as deelove1 for the superb idea of our Renfield keeping copies of van Helsing's medical notes. Clever, clever, clever, you are! ;)**

**Hey, people are waking up - gotta go! Happy reading - of anything!**


	15. Of Love and Desire

I do not own Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 15: Of Love and Desire

* * *

He travelled silently from shadow to shadow. Unseen, unheard. His demonic craving pulling at his deep, dark core. All around him, he could sense it. Could almost hear it, almost smell it. Almost _taste_ it.

Blood.

Blood, pumping through enclosed veins and flesh. Blood, dripping from an unfortunate graze with some sharp-edged metal. Blood, flowing from the secret places of which women only whisper. Blood. It called to him. Like a drunk called to the intoxicating drink. Only worse. Much stronger. And much more deadly.

Blood.

He passed through the presence of many a poor soul who shivered suddenly in dread at the dark night. Drew their bedclothes tighter around their mortal forms. Moaned uneasily in their disturbed sleep. And pressed closer to their still bedfellows. Though they did not know why.

Finally he struck upon an acceptable quarry. A man, old and sick. Devoid of desire for continuing life. A being whose soul cried out for the peace of death's sweet oblivion. And so, he granted that despairing request. He ended him quickly and with as little pain as possible.

Blood.

It was hideous, damnably grotesque. Whether in wrathful rage or starving bloodlust, he had always despised that thick, red substance. That abhorrent, exquisite solution. He could eat or drink anything he wished. He could partake of any substance, any spirit, any vapor he chose. And had. All of them. And none had quenched his undeniable desire for living blood.

As he drank, the revolting, metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, pouring over his lips, down his throat, soaking into the waiting, hungry tissues. The taste was incredibly vile, so despicably vile. And yet, his undead cells brimmed with life, vitality, and dark light as they became saturated with the stolen blood. His divided mind and famished body screamed in pleasure at every last wanton drop. It was a singular satisfaction that could not be felt through any other experience he had ever known.

How desperately he had wished, every time he had partaken of blood in his blasphemous undead existence, that either it did not feel so good or that it did not taste so bad. Never resigned to his accursed fate, he had railed against it for three centuries before his entombment. And always to the same end.

Blood. Back to the blood. Like a monstrous wild thing.

But van Helsing. Ah, that Abraham van Helsing had proved more of a monster than he could ever fathom. Reviving him from the endless dark void with his tantalizing assurances of vengeance. And the hope of sunlight.

That hideous serum. Suffering excruciating agony time and again just for a brief taste of true warmth and light. Granting him a sweet touch of freedom and then brutally wrenching it back. Replacing it with pain and ever growing bitterness. Leaving him to mourn and yearn once more in the shadows. The shame and hopelessness of his situation renewed afresh within him.

And that blasted serum. That atrocious serum had done nothing to subdue his voracious hunger for the blood. Leaving him hungry, dry, thirsting. And the longer he refrained, the worse the hunger raged within him. His mind becoming more chaotic, more bestial. His body weakening, becoming more skeletal. Until the hunger could no longer be contained.

And he succumbed to his demonic need.

All he desired was his humanity. Restored to him. In full. To walk freely in the sun without restraint. To live and love his wife. He would give anything just to live as a man. Fully. Completely.

In the light of the sun.

* * *

Renfield reclined alone within his quiet bedchamber. His large, dark body healing much too slowly for his preferences. He waited for Mina Murray to return from the clandestine errand on which he had sent her. And while he waited for her to return with his secreted papers, he thought. About her. And about the man who so deeply loved her.

He believed in Alexander Grayson's mission, but he believed more deeply, more devoutly in the man himself. That was where Renfield's allegiance lay grounded. In the belief of Alexander Grayson, of Vlad Tepes.

Renfield felt abiding compassion for Grayson's internal torment and desire for revenge. He also knew that, left unchecked, Grayson's behavior could and would lead to his ultimate demise. And that path into the pits of Hell, that path was the thing that Renfield worked hardest to avert. For the sake of Alexander Grayson.

Alexander Grayson's obsession with Miss Murray had grown steadily in the eight months since they had first met. Renfield had attempted to guide him away from that self-destruction. It was one of the few times when Grayson had ignored his counsel and gone completely awry.

Renfield understood love and desire. There had been females for him over the years of course. His first foray at the age of thirteen. His deep infatuation at twenty. The young lady could have been his wife if only he had not been so driven to succeed, to make something of himself. And of course, had she not been white. But such were the way of things at the time. He had suspected she had felt something for him as well. He had strongly desired to tell her of his feelings, but he did not wish to submit her to public ridicule for his own selfish sake. Though he would have been most pleased to touch her delicate hand, smell her ginger hair, feel her breath upon his face just once. Just once.

But such things were not to be for R.M. Renfield, Esquire.

Renfield knew, of course, the story of Ilona, of Grayson's enduring devotion to her. Immediately upon viewing the Dresden Triptych for the first time, he had truly understood just how much of a liability Mina Murray was to the empire of lies built by the one who called himself Alexander Grayson. And Renfield's failure to deliver it to the man himself had been a crushing blow. Grayson had entrusted him with the representation of that which was most precious and Renfield had failed. After they had retrieved the precious item, Renfield had sworn to himself that he would never fail in his duties again.

In regard to Miss Murray, it was true that she exuded a light from within, a certain loveliness that enriched everything in her presence. It was true she lit the hearts of those whom she gifted her smile. It was true that her laugh was a cool, refreshing breeze across the beaten brow on a sweltering day. It was true she treated everyone she met with respect and dignity. It was true she was something of an angel on earth.

It was true that she was worth dying for. Though he rather hoped that would not come to pass for either himself or Alexander Grayson.

After Miss Murray had disavowed him, Grayson had flown into the worst rage Renfield had ever witnessed from him. He had felt fear for, not of the man. The wounded, helpless man was set to destroy himself, of that there was no doubt. And Renfield, still recovering from his hideous torture, had engaged to stop him. Thus began their only physical combat in the twelve long years of their association. Renfield dared to lay hands on the man, all the while knowing Dracula could tear him to shreds and lay him low in a heartbeat. But Grayson had held back his final power and in the end they had lain side by side surrounded by the broken items of their destruction. And Alexander had bared his soul and beseeched his guidance.

Now Miss Murray seemed to have aligned herself with Alexander Grayson. And though he did not speak of it, Grayson seemed to be tentatively living in a dream of her peaceful, happy companionship. Had it not been for his irrefutable vampiric nature, Renfield would have rejoiced with him, for she was quite a fine woman. As it was, he did not dare to hope for their fairy tale ending.

Though he wished he could.

A sudden knock sounded at the door. He voiced entry and the door swung open. Miss Murray, her beautiful face aglow, appeared. She was smiling and looking extremely pleased with herself.

"Mr. Renfield," she announced, sounding almost childishly giddy, "I have been most successful!"

Indeed she had.

* * *

**So, yes, for those of you who think I've lost my mind (don't giggle), I did publish an extremely long chapter of Renfield's POV. And then went all paranoid and took it off and tore into smaller, more manageable chunks. Still don't know if that was the right or wrong move. Oh well.**

**Anywho, hope you enjoy this renovated chapter.**

**Thanks to deelove1, sbenton1, and babyphoenixprime for your encouraging reviews.**

**Thank you as well to Golden Orchid Cendrillon and x ToxXik x for adding your support to this tale as well.**


	16. Plea for Mercy

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I'm trying not to dream of it though.

The Long Game

Chapter 16: Plea for Mercy

* * *

He stood alone on a quiet rooftop, staring up at the night sky. The stars sparkled up on high and a silver sliver of the moon was just beginning to slyly reveal it itself in the waiting darkness. It was still beautiful and haunting, but could not quite hold the sway that it had on the first night Mina had shown him that wonder.

Mina. His ray of light in the never-ending darkness. Mina.

Among other talents, he possessed the innate ability to sense those who shared his curse. And so it was that he felt it now. That someone like him, a vampire, was quite close and drawing closer. And he knew exactly who it was. He let it, _her_, approach quite closely without admonishment. And as she reached within a few feet of him, she stopped, lingering in silence.

Without turning, he spoke in his true voice. As a proper gentleman, as a mesmerizing dark force.

"Good evening, Lucy."

She drifted out from the shadows like a thin, wavering ghost of the lovely woman she had once outwardly been. Her pale face made ever paler by her red lips. Lips the color of blood. Her blond hair unbound, undulating with the gentle night breeze.

"Good evening . . . _Sire_."

Her tone was quiet and calm. With venom dripping from every word.

"And how fare you on this moonlit eve?" he asked casually, still playing at decorum.

She cut her eyes in disdain at his prim manner. And responded in kind.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. For a dead woman."

He smirked.

"Oh no, my dear. You are most assuredly not dead. Simply undead and alive. In Hell. Watching the others who bask in the light of the sun and blessed life that you and I can never have."

She moved closer and tilted her head in a con of innocence at him.

"Ah, yes. And what of them? Our little sunwalkers? What of my Mina?" she purred.

He did not speak, only continued to watch the nighttime sky.

"Does she know of your . . . proclivities? Or do you continue to keep her . . . in the dark?"

She turned the phrase as a dagger to cut at his blackened heart within the cavity of his chest.

"That," he said, turning slowly to face her, "is none of your concern."

She advanced a step further to him.

"Ah, but it is, you see. I loved her first and I loved her the longest. And so it _is_ my concern. Though she did not . . . reciprocate my desires."

He tilted his head at her, his next words biting into her deadened heart as his teeth had once had to her tender flesh.

"Yes indeed. More's the pity."

She glared at him, her carefully constructed shell beginning to crack.

"Now that we have a bond, so to speak, between us . . ." he began, folding his arms across his chest. "Why _did_ you choose to take Harker's attentions away from her?"

Lucy's eyes dropped down and away. She hesitated briefly, battling herself, and then gave up and spoke her shameful truth to her maker.

"Lady Jayne Weatherby. She said my feelings for Mina were natural and that she probably felt the same. She convinced me to confess to Mina . . ."

And so there it was. Another nail in the coffin of his condemned soul. His dishonoring of Lady Jayne's pride had set forth a choking chain of events culminating in the destruction of Mina's relationships with both her fiancé Jonathan Harker and her close friend Lucy Westerna. Which had also caused him to turn that miserable pawn Lucy into a blood-ravenous creature of darkness.

She continued speaking her hushed confession.

". . . never truly meant to give myself to Jonathan. It seems I . . . underestimated him."

Ah yes. And so the blame would not rest entirely upon his skulking shoulders. Lucy, the naïve siren, had played with fire and it had burned her and all her associations. And Harker, the easily misguided simpleton, should have been taught beforehand never to prod his manhood into lunacy.

Such a dastardly turn of events. And they called _him_ the Fell One.

"Well, we all have regrets that we must live with," he responded dismissively. "Teaches us to be stronger, I've heard tell."

Lucy's composure shattered. She was a young, forsaken thing, her misused soul dripping crimson.

"Don't you even care how many lives have been destroyed?!" She cried out in misery. "After all, it all started after you made your debut here in London!"

Her words rang true, honest. And he might have softened in his cruelty if she had only ceased to speak there. But in her pain and shame, she continued on, with hate dripping from her blood tainted tongue.

"You're so above it all! All the pain and misery you helped cause!"

Her voice dropped low as she dared entertain a new dark thought.

"Perhaps someone should teach you such pain," she whispered, malice coloring her words. "Take away the one thing you hold most precious."

His eyes narrowed to slits and he felt murderous rage raising its shaggy beast head.

"Mind your words," he warned darkly. "Or I shall rip your tongue from your head. Tear out your eyeteeth and leave you to starve alone in deep, lost cellars with the rats."

She smiled at him, gently strumming the exposed nerve-endings of his exposed heart with her silken words.

"Creep into Mina's room while she sleeps and whisper the wicked truths you won't voice into her ears. Let them discolor her dreams with blood and gore. Tickle her . . . slumbering senses with my new gifts. Make her dream of madness . . ."

"Stay away from Mina!" he roared, furious. "Leave her alone!"

Lucy pouted childishly, her eyes glowing slits within her oval face.

"Why? Why should you be gifted a light to hold in this darkness while I rot away alone in the shadows?"

"Leave her out of this. She is pure," he declared. "She must not be touched by this devilry!"

"Ah, but she already has been . . . _touched_. By you. Very much so, judging by her light step. And quite often."

He glared at her, hands clenched tightly, drawing blood from his wounded palms.

"Leave . . . her . . . in peace," he murmured, death dripping from every syllable.

"Or perhaps I should make her one of us," Lucy suggested with an evil sneer upon her face. "Then we could . . . share her . . ."

"Speak another word of that and I shall truss you up in the middle of London with your feet in holy water and leave you to burn in the morning sun!" Alexander hissed, his eyes searing flame.

"Then kill me!" she screamed, suddenly out of control. "Kill me and end this torture!"

In outrage, she clawed viciously at her face, drawing blood from her torn flesh.

"Destroy me!" she shrieked, eyes flashing. "I have already drunk my mother, my very own mother, dry! And I enjoyed it! I relished it! I devoured every last drop of her as she struggled against me! As I did all my servants in my house!"

Though her wounds were already healing, she tore at them again and again in a wild fury.

"Kill me, burn me! Tear my head off of my shoulders! Anything! Just end this unbearable torment!"

He reached out and slapped her face then to stop her mad ranting. Her head snapped to the side, then moved slowly back to face him.

"What? Shall you now use me for your own purposes as did Jonathan? Are you a monster such as he? Will I be forever whored by men? Only her. Tender, delicate, Mina. The precious. The pure. She must be unsullied. Protected at all costs. Only her."

He lunged forward and stopped her onslaught of words. Sent her shaking fits into stillness. Held her close to him. Stroked her wild tendrils of hair. Then he spoke, quietly, almost kindly to her.

"No. I will not kill you. And you will not harm Mina. Nor her father. Nor her remaining confidantes. Nor anyone within my house or hers."

She stood rigid and still within his embrace, breathing in shallow, quick breaths. And he shushed her further, whispering ever more faintly. Until her breaths slowed and became even and calm, her trembling body soothed under his power.

"She will live in the light and you will continue on in this perpetual torment," he continued. "Because you hurt her. Directly. Intentionally. Your own dearest love. Your best friend. You allowed yourself to be made into a monster within. Now you must abide as a monster without."

As he drew back, she looked at him with her pale green eyes which wept tears of blood at her heavy anguish. And he, Vlad Tepes, Alexander Grayson, _Dracula_ kissed her forehead in an almost fatherly manner.

"Go now. And leave her be."

* * *

**Whew! Well now, what do you think of **_**that**_**?**

**Thanks to meegan sweeney for your enthusiastic review!**

**Thanks to angelslovepaty and Dark Core as well for adding your support to this tale.**

**Next time, we'll have some interesting revelations about our man van Helsing. Stay tuned . . . **


	17. The Nightingale and the Rose

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

If only.

The Long Game

Chapter 17: The Nightingale and the Rose

* * *

"Renfield, I've discovered something extraordinary!" Mina exclaimed in a hushed tone, quickly approaching his bedside.

Renfield could not entirely suppress the amused smile that touched his eyes as she perched on the edge of his bed, removing a sheaf of papers from her medical bag excitedly.

"According to this information, it appears that van Helsing created a serum to immune Alexander from his affliction."

"Yes," Renfield affirmed patiently. "That was the intention of the solar serum."

"No," Mina expounded. "The serum he created was completely effective at rendering Alexander immune to his affliction."

"Yes," Renfield agreed, still not comprehending her intended meaning.

Mina shifted restlessly.

"Renfield, Alexander cannot walk in sunlight for more than a few hours, correct?"

She spoke intensely, appearing intellectually electrified by the astounding information Renfield had gifted to her within the pages she held.

"Yes," Renfield concurred.

"And he craves blood frequently, correct?"

She seemed to have tossed aside her natural revulsion for his demonic hunger in favor of her intriguing scientific discovery.

"Yes," Renfield answered for the fourth time. "What are you saying, Miss Murray?"

Mina took a deep breath. She set her face. Then she spoke slowly, clearly.

"It appears from this information that van Helsing was intentionally giving Alexander an ineffective version of the serum."

Renfield's eyes narrowed. Mina continued on unabated.

"The serum with which he injected Alexander only temporarily affected his aversion to sunlight, and had no affect whatsoever on his bloodlust. But the proper serum would affect his body on a cellular level making him, for all intents and purposes, human for a period of several days."

Renfield's expression was one of stunned realization.

"Why would he not give him this more effective injection, Renfield?"

Mina Murray possessed a quick, intelligent mind and she already suspected the truth of the matter. However, she wished for Renfield to voice it aloud. And so he did. Slowly, quietly, as though speaking to himself.

"Because it was a method of control. To keep Mr. Grayson in check until the revenge on the Order was complete."

Renfield kept his emotions carefully controlled, though they threatened to overwhelm him. This man who called himself Alexander Grayson had suffered so cruelly, so unnecessarily so far at the hands of Abraham van Helsing. While the creature parading as a helpful scientist had preyed on Grayson's desperate desire live as a man of sunlight and humanity.

Who, of the two, was indeed the actual blood and soul sucking monster?

"Also," Mina continued once more, "he based the serum on Alexander's specific blood make up. But he truly only needed one dose of Alexander's blood. Though it states here that he drew blood quite frequently."

All those painful blood withdrawals. The dark pleasure van Helsing had so obviously taken at the invasive procedures.

"Perhaps to keep up appearance of ongoing progressed," Renfield hedged.

Mina nodded, though she darkly suspected otherwise.

"Or," Renfield continued, "more likely, it was another form of control, of exerting power. Drawing blood in painful, copious amounts from one who takes it from others. A forced ritual of righteously ironic penance, so to speak."

Mina's lovely countenance twisted in a savage grimace she could not repress.

"That's completely monstrous! At least Alexander cannot help himself!"

She threw out her words out and away from herself. Those words that tasted like bile in her mouth.

"What of the electrical shocks?" Renfield asked after a moment.

She riffled through the papers absently, struggling to collect herself.

"Yes, I did read about them. It seems that his malfunctioning heart cannot properly pump his blood through his body. Massive electric shocks are required to push his unnaturally thick blood containing the serum through his veins. What do you know of it?"

Renfield hesitated, then spoke factually, keeping his true emotions firmly locked into place.

"van Helsing used a metal contraption to shock Mr. Grayson's heart into workable order for a period of up to four hours. It was a brutally, painful process which took a heavy toll on him. It would have killed a lesser man."

Mina gathered her courage about her as though it was a protective covering.

"Very well then," she took a deep breath. "Where is this machine? I must inspect it."

Renfield exhaled.

"It is housed in his private laboratory adjacent to the Resonator building where he attacked me."

Mina's hope withered, though she refused to let it expire completely.

"Do you believe it still stands?"

Renfield looked at her.

"Of that I have no idea. But it is where he kept all his materials for the serum. And those I do know he was destroying when I happened upon him. I believe my discovery of his actions induced his abrupt attack on me."

Mina sat still, gnawing on her lower lip thoughtfully.

"If you would be so kind as to step outside the room, Miss Murray, I shall make myself more presentable and we will go in search of van Helsing's device."

Mina shook her head adamantly.

"No, absolutely not. You are still recuperating. We shall go in a few days. But if what you say is true, it will remain undisturbed until then. And I will study these notes more thoroughly in the meantime."

Her professional, absolute tone brooked no room for argument and so Renfield bowed to her adamant appeal for his restful rehabilitation.

Upon their request, the maid brought in a flavorful soup and small wedges of bread and cheese for their supper. They dined together and engaged in further discussion on the matters at hand.

* * *

The day brought yet another surprise for Mina Murray. Roses. One red and one white. Brought to her by her freshly laundered, freshly cleaned, freshly blooded, Alexander Grayson.

He took her hand and pressed it reverently to his lips. Then he raised himself fully up and presented first the white rose to her. She smiled, blushing, and inhaled the sweet smell appreciatively.

"There is an old Arabic legend about roses," he spoke, in his true voice. The rich resonations sent shivers down her spine almost as much as his flat Mid-Western one. The one she had first heard in this life.

Mina raised a playful eyebrow.

"Ah, there is, is there? And here I thought they were simply a symbol for love."

Alexander returned her expression, basking in the glow of her. Here. Once more. Choosing to be here.

"Oh, they are," he conceded lightly. "That is why I brought you one every night you were in the hospital. Even when you wished I wouldn't."

Mina's smile faded and she softly caressed his skin with her fingertips.

"Yes, you did. You said you couldn't help yourself."

He nodded, his blue-green eyes searching hers.

"I was telling the truth."

Refusing to shed tears on such a beautiful memory, she responded in her soft, melodic tones.

"I know. And through all my confusion and emotional pain, I was glad you did."

He shifted his head to lightly kiss her hand on his cheek.

"I know."

They remained thus for a brief moment of time, drifting together in their hope and love. Then Alexander spoke.

"Would you like to hear the tale?"

Mina removed her hand from his face and settled herself comfortably into a nearby chair.

"Yes, I would. Please."

She smiled at him, delighted for a story.

"The legend tells that, originally, all roses grew only velvety white petals."

Her enchantment was evident, much as it once had when he had shown her the simplicity of the card trick. And Jonathan, poor, jealous Jonathan, had disdained his efforts. As did Lucy. Well, no matter. Sometimes it was refreshing to simply take joy in the world as it was. For it could change so quickly and without warning.

Alexander continued spinning his tale for her enjoyment.

"And so the roses remained white and unblemished for years upon end. Until one dark night, a nightingale happened upon a particularly exquisite white rose and fell deeply in love with its beauty. Now at this time, nightingales could not sing as they do today."

Alexander kept one hand coyly behind his back, almost appearing as a child keen to withhold the precious token until the most opportune moment.

"The nightingale's love was so intense that he opened his mouth and sung for the first time in the presence of the beautiful rose."

She could almost hear the lovely song of the nightingale in Alexander's tale.

"As he sang his charming melody, his love for the rose filled him so much that he pressed himself to it. The sharp thorns of the rose pierced his heart. He bled upon it, coloring the velvety petals forever crimson red."

Alexander drew his hand from behind his back and presented her with the lovely red rose, a fragrant symbol of his enduring love for her. She took it, cradling its precious petals to her lips along with the white one. It was then that she realized each stem had been sheared smooth of its piercing thorns. She stood and stepping into his arms, kissed him softly upon the lips. Then, sobering, she gazed lovingly in his handsome face.

"Alexander, I do not wish for either of us to be the nightingale or the flower," she whispered solemnly.

They locked eyes, locked souls, tightly for a moment in time. Both considering the haunting tale. The dead nightingale and the rose bathed in blood, both transformed by all-consuming love.

"Nor do I, my love," he whispered gently.

Taking the rose from her and stroking her face with its soft petals, he murmured to her, his breath light upon her face.

"But I do so enjoy their lovely aroma."

* * *

**The tale of the nightingale and the rose is a real legend, I have heard. Similar to the thorn birds, yes?**

**Thanks to CherryWillow19 and deelove1 for your continuing such sweet reviews!**

**Thanks as well to secretdevill for adding your support to this tale.**

**Oh yes, and thanks to everyone who has continued to offer up ideas and suggestions for our story. I love it! Keep 'em coming. Especially you, deelove1, you little genius, you. ;)**


	18. Salt Upon the Lips

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

It is creeping into my dreams though.

The Long Game

Chapter 18: Salt Upon the Lips

* * *

Jonathan Harker staggered out of the darkened doorway like a drunk on his last legs. He clutched at the crumbling brick wall to his right with a trembling hand in an attempt to steady his frayed nerves. He attempted to breathe deeply in a effort to maintain his composure.

He did not succeed.

Lurching toward an open sewer grate, he collapsed to his unfeeling knees and repeatedly heaved his roiling, acid-filled guts up in a disgusting, involuntary evacuation.

As Harker lost the remains of his dignity crouching in the seedy depths of London, Abraham van Helsing materialized from the gloom behind him. Casually blotting his brow with a white monogrammed handkerchief, he spoke in an almost professorly manner as he tucked the damp cloth into his jacket pocket.

"Now, Mr. Harker, do you believe in the existence of vampires?"

Jonathan Harker did not respond, could not respond. Their innocent faces, their small bodies. Diminutive, gleaming vampire fangs. He had tried not to do it. Tried to avoid it. But the alternative . . . their sharp, gnashing teeth . . .

The two young forms had appeared to be huddled together for warmth. Shivering, whimpering. He had approached slowly, hand out in offered compassion.

"Children? Are you ill? Where are your p . . ."

They had turned and looked upon him, piercing eyes gleaming in the darkness. van Helsing behind him, shouting.

"Look alert, Mr. Harker! They are not what they appear to be!"

He had stumbled back, uncertainty and dread dropping a heavy lava rock into his already sick stomach. The impish young ones had advanced upon him, hissing in their childish voices.

"Now, Mr. Harker! Stake them now before they draw blood!"

Catching the attacking boy in the chest with a reflexive kick of his foot, sending him reeling back momentarily. And the girl with her thick curls . . . her exploding ashes covering his wooden stake and his soiled clothes.

"Again, Mr. Harker! He is upon you!"

Then the boy once more with his round face and his howling scream cut short . . .

Just as he thought his raw stomach had been purged completely empty, Jonathan crumpled forward. Retching again, more bile, more sickness from the depths of his rotten soul.

Salt, salt. He tasted salt upon his lips, mixing with the linger of acidity from his core. Dimly, He realized the salt came from the bitter tears streaming down his ash-covered face.

"Who . . . who were they?" he questioned tremulously.

The older man behind him sighed.

"Once upon a time, they were Browning's innocent children. I kidnapped them, used Grayson's blood to turn them, and set them upon their own father in recompense for my destroyed family."

Jonathan listened in horror, his mind threatening to break under the strain of the words slashing into him. Van Helsing continued talking quietly, calmly. As if these were all mere cold, hard facts in a scientific experiment.

"Then I burned the structure in which I had them trapped down around them. Though, apparently, they managed to escape."

He would hear, could hear no more. His mind was cracking, shutting down.

"You did well to dispatch them so quickly, Mr. Harker. Their guise was quite . . . misleading."

As Jonathan Harker continued to shake upon the dirty cobblestones, Abraham van Helsing smiled grimly within himself.

It was a wicked manipulation, to be sure. The black cruelty with which he had sought out Browning's former children for Harker to slay. The exacting arrangement of their procession through the darkened structure so that Harker happened upon them first, forced to confront them on his own. But, Abraham reflected, sacrifices must be made in holy war such as the one in which he now found himself engaged.

And now Harker shuddered, fully broken, upon the ground. When he arose, he would be ever so much more pliable. Ever so much more easily bent into a weapon against all vampires. Especially one Vlad Tepes. Alexander Grayson. Dracula.

"Be careful who you trust, Mr. Harker," van Helsing advised quietly. "The devil himself was once an angel."

* * *

Mina licked residual saltiness from her lips and rested her head contently on Alexander's smooth, bare chest.

They lay quietly together for a time before he managed to speak.

"I don't believe they taught you that in finishing school."

She grinned, tracing the flesh of his abdomen with her fingertips and responded quietly.

"No. Nor in medical university either, I must admit."

He smiled, gliding his hand slowly up and down the flesh of her arm, raising delicious goosebumps at his light touch.

"Most unlady like behavior, don't you think?" he ventured playfully.

"Oh most definitely, sir." she agreed. "Almost as much as falling in love with a four hundred year old man whose nighttime activities involve . . ."

She felt his muscles tense reflexively in dreaded anticipation and reached up to caress the line of his collarbone in a soothing manner.

". . . such amorous bedchamber adventures."

He relaxed at her selected words. Then he sat up slowly, a sly expression lighting his face.

"Ah. So you must think you're quite clever then. Do you, Miss Murray?"

She smiled cheekily.

"Yes, actually. I do, Mr. Grayson," she replied primly, matching his jaunty banter.

He smirked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"And skilled? Do you believe that you are skilled?"

She nodded and drew closer, whispering.

"Although, if I am to be honest, you are my first test subject of that particular. . . _technique_."

His smile widened further.

"All the more appealing then," he responded and she blushed, grinning.

He continued speaking while languidly maneuvering further down in the bedclothes.

"As it so happens, I am quite skilled and clever myself, madam. And if you'll allow me . . . I'll show you."

And he did. And he was.

* * *

**Well, Jonathan's getting put through the wringer, isn't he? How unfortunate for him. Poor boy.**

**On a separate note, there was such a light air of shared love and freedom and playfulness in the brief flashbacks of Ilona and Vlad alone together that I just couldn't resist giving some of that back to them lately. You know, in the light of all the seriousness and such.**

**And I am well aware I am walking the line between the spirited fun that I so love and the tactless smut of which I have always sworn I would never write. Hopefully though, I am still on the right side of that fuzzy line. If I have strayed too far, feel free to stop by for a chat. :)**

**Thanks to deelove1, CherryWillow19, sbenton1, and babyphoenixprime for your continued reviews and encouragement.**

**Thanks also to the angel of darkness2 for adding your support to this tale as well.**

**And now a word from our favorite Scotts yard guy. Aw, don't be confused . . . deelove1 knows who I'm talking about . . . ;)**


	19. A Dream of Light

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

It is starting to creep into my dreams though.

The Long Game

Chapter 19: A Dream of Light

* * *

Joseph Kowalski stood in the vast parlor of Carfax Manor. In his rough, calloused hand, he loosely held a freshly printed copy of the Inquisitor. The headlines read: "Grayson Deeply Regrets Resonator Tragedy; Claims Sabotage".

Kowalski's ginger head was bandaged white though nearly a week had passed since the explosion. His face and exposed forearms still wore a heavy discoloration of bruises.

"Mr. Kowalski, what a relief to see you alive and well!" Grayson exclaimed quite sincerely, approaching and gladly shaking the hand of his most trusted, most skilled head engineer.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Grayson," Kowalski replied, smiling. "Well, mostly anyway."

"Tell me, what happened to you?" Grayson queried.

Kowalski sobered and took a moment to speak.

"Well, I remember I tried to hurry as many people away as possible. But I don't really remember the explosion itself," he admitted. "I came to under a pile of rubble and managed to drag myself home."

Grayson frowned, listening with his arms folded across his chest.

"My wife, Mary Ann, put me straight to bed. She was a nurse before she chose to stay home and care for our children. So she has taken good care of me."

Alexander imagined that Kowalski's wife and his own dear Mina might have similar qualities about them.

"Sounds like a fine companion to have then," Grayson surmised.

Kowalski smiled proudly.

"She is, Mr. Grayson, she is. Always has been."

Mary Ann. His wife, his muse. He remembered when he had first dreamt of the Resonator. It was cold and they were still young and quite poor. They had lain together, shivering in the miserable night. Her quiet weeping in the dark over the death of their recently born first child. A boy. With ginger hair like his father. And he had thought how wonderful it would be if everyone could have light to comfort them on such dark nights. Free, sustainable, wireless energy. A true dream in a world full of such harsh realities.

Then he brought himself back to the matter at hand.

"Actually," Kowalski admitted, "This is the first day she has let me out of the house at all. She feared I had a concussion."

Moving away from his own recent misadventures, he cocked his head at Grayson inquisitively.

"How did _you_ survive, Mr. Grayson? You were right at the heart of the blast, last I saw you."

Alexander shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

"A stroke of luck, I suppose," he answered.

Kowalski blinked an expression of disbelieving astonishment.

"Quite a stroke of luck, I'd venture."

Grayson remained quiet, mentally forming additional fabrications to quell the man's curiosity. However, his efforts were unnecessary.

"May I ask, Mr. Grayson . . . Miss Murray?"

Grayson responded as casually as he could.

"Harker managed to take her away to safety. She has since returned and has been looking after my man Renfield," he concluded.

Kowalski was relieved. He did not wish his machine to harm anyone. The masses that had been injured and killed during the fated demonstration had been almost more than he could bear. And Mary Ann, precious Mary Ann, had listened for hours to all his distraught ministrations on the matter. How carefully he had checked the measurements, how precisely he had run the tests. Everything had seemed to be perfect. There had been no signs of impending doom. Right up until it had happened.

And Mina Murray. A truly unique woman, that one. He vividly recalled her accompanying Grayson on a private test of the Resonator. The intelligence, the interest she had taken for its workings. Her bright delight as the bulb lit up in her hand, as though drawing its power from her very own glowing spirit. And then, bravely lending her own efforts in an attempt to avert the unstoppable catastrophe at the doomed demonstration. That similar spirit that resided in his own beloved wife.

"Renfield?" Kowalski questioned. "I don't remember him at the demonstration."

Grayson shook his head.

"He wasn't. He was on an errand for me and fell prey to an attack."

Kowalski's green eyes flashed in surprise.

"Attack?! By whom?!"

Grayson wondered briefly why he was revealing so much unnecessary information to this man who warranted none.

"It seems that Mr. van Helsing has proven to be less dependable an ally than he once presented himself."

Kowalski snorted in disgust.

"If you don't mind be saying so, I was always suspicious of that man. He seemed, well, shady, in his intentions. Too concerned and distracted with his own affairs."

Grayson smiled to himself. He doubted the man before him found much value in any grown person who not love his Resonator project as much as he did.

Kowalski held up the paper for Grayson's viewing.

"So you believe sabotage?" he asked, already building up a full head of steam at the notion of someone intentionally hurting her, his machine.

Grayson nodded curtly. Kowalski vaguely remembered Harker and Grayson shouting through the chaotic din during the final moments before he had turned to rush innocents away from the impending disaster. It had seemed suspicious at the time but he had been more concerned with saving as many lives as possible than overhearing a random conversation. Maybe he should have been more alert to the matter. Had it been Harker all along? Surely not. He was just a lad.

Grayson spoke with sincerity, looking him directly in the eye.

"Mr. Kowalski, your work was impeccable. We'd tested the machine and process time and time again. Had we not? And every time problems arose, they were resolved immediately and with precise attention to detail."

Within his stout chest, Kowalski felt a swell of pride. Everything Grayson was saying was true. Kowalski had always taken pride in his work. Even starting out in the free land of America as a child of poor Scottish immigrants. Learning at a young age that he could take things apart and put them back in workable order again. Sometimes _better_ working order.

Grayson continued.

"That's why I chose you for this most important project, Mr. Kowalski. And you have never let me down. Every failure, every setback was merely a stepping stone for further experimentation, further study, further improvements."

Kowalski just knew that if Grayson continued this impassioned speech any further, he would cry in a most childish, unmanly way. The way that only Mary Ann, his beloved wife, had witnessed upon the birth of each and every one of their precious children.

"Yes, I believe the Resonator was sabotaged," Grayson concluded. "And I believe I know who did it as well."

Kowalski's entire musculature tensed. His gaze was as fiery as his hair.

"Who?" he asked intensely.

Who?! He demanded silently. I'll tear them apart!

Grayson looked upon the man carefully, measuring and weighing him. He concluded he was not ready to sacrifice this most skilled individual for his own ambitions. Though he could. He could speak the names and watch Kowalski fall over himself in an effort to destroy those guilty. Which would, in turn, leave his Mary Ann widowed and his aforementioned children fatherless. No, no. This time, he would not destroy innocent lives.

"Leave me to deal with that, Mr. Kowalski," he instructed. "Though I appreciate your fervor."

Kowalski grumbled, then seemed to regain himself.

"There was another reason for my coming here today, Mr. Grayson."

Grayson raised his eyebrows slightly, somewhat curious.

"Yes, Mr. Kowalski?"

Joseph Kowalski cleared his throat and spoke.

"Well, I wanted to talk with you about the Resonator. The one that was destroyed was all very good and well for a beginning."

Grayson nodded in agreement.

"Quite good. Very near to a miracle, I've hear said."

Kowalski shrugged.

"Very gracious, of course. But I have something better."

Grayson's eyebrows raised further.

"Really? How very interesting. And what is that?"

Kowalski smiled.

"Well, a more modern, smaller version. It wouldn't use or give out as much power. But as it is smaller, it would be less expensive to build and operate. And with the money saved there, we could build multiple ones."

Grayson seemed genuinely surprised. Which in Kowalski's observation, didn't happen very often.

"And since everyone believed this work has come to a dark end, so to speak," Kowalski continued. "The work could continue in secret without concern for . . . outside involvement until it is completely ready."

Grayson did not reply for a moment while Kowalski waited patiently. Finally, Grayson clapped a hand to Kowalski's shoulder.

"Joseph," he stated grandly, "not only are you alive and well, but you're a complete genius! Let's sit down with a drink and discuss your brilliance further, shall we?"

Joseph Kowalski smiled and stepped forward with Grayson.

"Okay, Mr. Grayson. But just a little. If I have too much, Mary Ann will likely give me another concussion."

Grayson laughed, thinking of Mina.

"Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

* * *

**Yeah, yeah, it's a long shot that Kowalski lived, but hey once again, it's my story. And I like that guy.**

**Thanks to heartsburstintofire17 for adding your support to this tale.**

**Thanks as well to deelove1 and sbenton1 for your reviews. What loyal, longsuffering reviewers you are! And with such brilliant suggestions too! ;)**


	20. Indomitable Hope and Broken Souls

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

And I appreciate the sun ever so much more now.

The Long Game

Chapter 20: Indomitable Hope and Broken Souls

* * *

The sun, his beloved, forbidden sun, was just setting beyond the grand curtained windows and the last of its dying light caressed the wispy draperies with soft hues of pink and purple and red. But something even more exquisite drew his attentions away from that melting orb which he could not yet embrace.

He had just disclosed the revelations of the astonishing exchange that had transpired between him and the genius man Joseph Kowalski. Expressing bewilderment and doubt for the possible reality of these new developments had only beget the fire now before him.

Mina Murray, in all her beauty and abiding faith, standing straight and tall in the absolute conviction of the words that poured forth from her. And Alexander, the powerful four hundred year old Prince of Darkness, stood amenably before her almost as a pupil to a teacher. Or a monk to his holy relic.

And his queen held her court.

To him.

"You have done evil, wicked things," she acknowledged calmly. "No one can refute that. There are most likely evil things you have done that you have not told me."

He opened his mouth. Mina held up a hand to stop him from speaking and he did.

"No, I do not wish for you to lie or deny. Nor do I wish for you to tell me now."

Alexander closed his mouth in wonder at her. Mina continued talking.

"But do you think that if you had not done some good, if you had not inspired something admirable, that if you were completely evil and wicked with no redeemable virtues at all, that these things would be happening?"

He stood in silent witness in the presence of her impassioned words. As a righteous angel, she preached her message of hope and deliverance to him. This damned creature of the night. This vampire.

"Your desire for sunlight has been destroyed - yet Renfield and I have been working behind your back to exhume that dream, that prospect."

She smiled as his face revealed his shock and bewilderment before he regained his composure.

"We work to help you throw off this curse and live as a man, because you have the heart and mind and _soul_ of one."

He opened his mouth once more and she stopped him once more.

"Your Resonator and it light it creates has been destroyed by your enemies. Yet this man Kowalski with all his knowledge and drive and passion has survived and resurfaced with an improved design for continuing this extraordinary work."

She reached out her hand to stroke his face gently.

"This invention of yours and Kowalski's. It brings hope and, literally, light to so many of those in darkness. Whatever your other motivations were for the Resonator, the light itself is a gift to all those in darkness. And to you."

She dropped her hand from his dear face and placed both hands haughtily on her hips, smiling.

"Do you really believe all these elements could or would come together so perfectly if you were a completely evil, wicked, dastardly creature without hope for absolution?"

He knew who he was, what he was, what he had done. And he could not bear to lie to her. Not her.

"Perhaps," he quietly said without guile or pretext.

She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow at him in controlled vexation.

"Well, then, you are wrong. And I am going to prove that to you."

Almost against his dark will, a smile of admiration and wonder at her indomitable character whispered across his face.

Her words were beautiful, full of light and forgiveness and hope. He wanted to believe in them so badly.

But he was not quite sure he could.

Not just yet.

But oh, how he wanted to.

* * *

Abraham van Helsing was not insane or mad. Well, not entirely.

He was simply a man with a mission. And that mission had not changed in all the years since his fiery rebirth.

Destroy the Order of the Dragon.

He had betrayed them, Browning and his men. And true to the strict laws of their order, they had punished him.

Him. Their most diligent vampire hunter.

He had gone astray from their instructions and they had destroyed everything. His life, his lovely wife, his precious children.

Not just destroyed. Annihilated. Obliterated. Incinerated.

And they had made him watch. Hear. Smell. Perhaps even taste their ashes upon his tongue as the embers drifted down upon him in that black night.

And that must never be forgotten or forgiven.

He had heard tell of the creature Dracula. He had studied the legend when his rank still afforded him access to the dusty, hidden archives deep within the lair of the Order of the Dragon.

And he had believed. With chills and disquiet, he had studied the tale, the process of that transformation from human man into that damned creature. Of course, he had shared this information with no one.

Though he had referenced the location in his medical notes years later. Those notes he had burned away to ash.

And when he had picked himself up from the murder of his family, terrible, unspeakable thoughts had begun to form in the back of his mind. Like slithering, crawling eels forming a mound of repulsive, unimaginable coils of deception and evil.

If he could find and exhume this monster, then he could use it to wreck vengeance upon the Order of the Dragon. The only question was one of control. How to control an unstoppable force?

Love.

And he had. He had searched far and wide, until he had discovered him in Romania. Sacrificed his travelling companions. Revived the creature Dracula.

And offered him vengeance. Lured him with the taste of sunlight.

Too bad it had all gone wrong.

And now, van Helsing returned to his roots.

The destruction of all vampires.

Especially that one who had failed him so completely.

Vlad the third, warrior prince of Wallachia, second son of the house of Basarab of Romania. Who had once served on the high council of the Order of the Dragon.

Vlad Tepis, who like van Helsing himself, had dared to defy the Order. And in return was punished in the most extreme manner possible. Found guilty of heresy, excommunicated by the church.

By dark, occult rituals transformed into the Fell One, Nosferatu, Primo Master Vampire. The first of his kind.

He could almost feel sorry for this being who paraded himself about as Alexander Grayson.

But in this dark world, there was no room left in van Helsing's broken soul for anything but hate. And retribution.

Abraham closed his eyes as he lay upon his cot.

And dreamt of fire, tears, and screams.

* * *

**Mina sure gave Alexander a talking-to, didn't she?**

**Actually, Mina's little impassioned speech came to me as I was reading a Sleeping Hollow fanfic "The Jargogling of Ichabod Crane" by LouBlue. A great read if you're a Sleepy Hollow fan.**

**And if you're not, well, you should be. ;)**

**Thanks as always to all the loyal readers, reviewers, and supporters of this tale. You are most gracious and I appreciate you all.**


	21. The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

And I do appreciate the sun ever so much more now.

The Long Game

**This chapter is rated M for horror. We're really going for it here, folks. You ready?**

Chapter 21: The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

* * *

She looked for him for quite time before she found him. All alone in the darkness.

"Alexander?"

His back was to her and he did not turn around or acknowledge her existence whatsoever. That was very unlike him.

"Alexander?"

As she drew closer, something within her whispered to run away. She ignored it with a determination born out of love and enduring hope.

"Alexander?"

She lightly touched his shoulder and his clenched muscles felt like bundles of wire beneath the fabric of his clothing. Still, he did not turn. She moved to face him instead and peered into his face.

It was drawn and pale. He looked skeletal, gaunt. Perspiration beaded on his brow. His blue-green eyes were sickly, hollow pits in his face as he stared blindly at her. His dark, usually glossy hair looked brittle and dull.

"Alexander?"

She was becoming quite alarmed, though she tried to contain her growing disquiet with logic, with reasoning.

"Mina."

His voice was raw, barely more than a whisper. As if words struggled to form in his dry, parched throat.

"Alexander, what is wrong?"

He could have been stone, a statue. For he did not move while she looked upon him. But she saw a fleeting image of him seizing her throat the moment she looked away or blinked. And so she forced herself to meet his gaze, though his stare bore into her head as if tunneling into her brain tissues.

Her thoughts were becoming more scattered, more fractured with each passing moment. A highly unusual state for her. She prided herself on her independent nature and self-possession. Now however, it felt as though something were invading her, mechanically dismantling her intellectual processes, filling her with whirls of confusion and dread.

"Alexander. Please speak to me," she requested. Staunchly refusing to break down and beg, plead.

His eyes were locked upon hers and now she could no longer look away. As if she were becoming entranced, hypnotized, controlled.

And he. He, her lover, her soul companion, her constant, was staring at her in a way she never had witnessed before. Black fury.

Ravenous hunger.

And she knew then that she would die.

But still, Mina Murray was never one to give up without a fight be it emotional, mental, or physical.

And so she began struggling through her sluggish mental processes, seeking a means of escape. It was like slogging through thick, fetid, sucking mud.

Her budding hope wilted upon his silken, liquid words.

"My dear Mina," he breathed, his calm tone contradicting his deathly stare. "I have been abstaining from blood for many days in an effort to become the man you desire."

Her dread thicken her blood to reddish sludge in her veins, weighing her down as she tried in vain to move.

"I have tried to be what you need. I have done all I can," he continued, resentment dripping from his syllables.

She could barely manage a nod. She knew. Oh yes, she knew.

"I have destroyed my empire of lies for you. I have wasted away alone in the darkness for you. I have burned in the sun . . . for you."

She nodded again, her fear slithering its way up her spine and into the base of her brain, squirming, roiling, churning.

"Have you any idea what it is like to slowly thirst, to slowly _STARVE_?!" he roared suddenly, hands clenched, eyes wild with rage.

And she could not move a muscle. Held fast, immobile. By something not her. And he, her Alexander, began slowly circling her like a deadly predator to a doomed prey.

He hissed his words at her.

"And all the while, you parade about with your sun kissed flesh and your fresh, flowing blood pumping through your delicate little veins. I smell the food upon your breath when you kiss me. And I know that you, you selfish little wretch, do not want for drink, for sustenance, for nourishment."

Tears dropped from her eyes. Not at his words. At the demons in his eyes clawing at her soul with long, jagged talons of acidic hate.

And he, this man she found she knew not at all, continued to circle her, stalking her in her paralyzed, helpless state.

"And then, while I am denied the warmth of the sun, you swan about. Prattling on about the beauty of the stars . . ."

An abrupt, harsh sound ripped from his throat and up through his exposed, deadly-sharp fangs. Something akin to a laugh.

"Those stars, so cold, uncaring. And the big, pale, cold, bloated moon hanging above my head that _MOCKS ME_ . . ."

His voice dropped again.

". . . and my futile hope."

Mina's insides quaked beneath her still outer veneer. She had begun to pray. But even that was splintered, brittle.

I beg forgiveness for my . . . no, there is no forgiveness for me . . . I pray for mercy. . . in the black, yawning void . . . no . . . gnashing teeth . . . heavy chains . . .

"You have offered me a fragile, decaying hope that can no longer withstand my . . . hunger."

And then he stopped circling. Directly in front of her. And stared at her with absolute blackness.

"And I am so very hungry."

He reached out slowly and she could not even flinch away, for her muscles were still frozen. His index finger touched the flesh of her upper chest. Tracing slow lines on her skin. His flesh was cold, clammy, alien.

"And when I . . ." here he used a crass, obscene word that cut her brain, her heart. And was not what she thought they had been doing.

" . . . you, all I could smell was your blood. Hid away in your veins when it should be in my mouth, upon my tongue. Taken into me."

He lightly took hold of her hand, turned it palm up, and raised it slowly to his lips. Once upon a time, that movement had made her tremble inside. It did so as well now for an entirely different reason. Keeping his gaze locked upon hers, this monster that wore her Alexander's handsome face bit into the tender flesh of her palm with his sharp vampiric eyeteeth. The pain was sharp and hard though she could not release the screams lodged within her. She could only stand and watch as he drank from her and continued to stare into her deepest soul with those pitiless eyes.

Then he drew her hand down and away, broke his own flesh and held it up to her, blood dripping down his arm.

"Drink from me. I want you to feel what I have felt."

Her mind and soul struggled and flailed and shrank back. But the trance that held her body commanded her to obey. And so she did. The blood was thick, repugnant. It choked her as it filled her mouth and dripped down her throat.

And then the emotions flooded through her. Threatening to drown her in their swelling tide. Yearning, sorrow, love, thirst, hunger, resentment, hate.

And extreme satiation. In the indulgence of blood. Her blood.

"Now," he whispered, his demon eyes very nearly glowing. "Now do you understand what I have suffered for you?"

She finally broke through the invisible, sorcerous bindings that held her fast.

"Alexander . . . please . . ."

He savagely launched himself upon her, grasping hands digging brutally into the tender flesh of her arms. She cried out in fear and excruciating pain. His fangs tore into her neck, her jugular vein, slashing deep mortal wounds which spurted forth that which he craved so badly.

Blood.

The pain was blinding, a white light of sheer agony. She finally screamed and her body flailed desperately. He growled into her neck like a feral animal on a rampage while her lifeblood gushed free, pouring into his hungry mouth and down her body.

It hurt so much. It was as though he was trying to inflict as much agonizing torment as he could to punish her for filling his head with superficial hopes and dreams of sunlight and humanity.

And for denying him the one thing he needed more than anything else in his condemned existence.

Blood.

They collapsed to the floor as he drank her dry. Her body convulsed, her vision dimmed in and out. He detached and hovered above her, blood dripping onto her face from his mouth as he roared at her.

The last thing she ever beheld was his soulless eyes glowering at her as she died.

"And, no, my love. You need not fear to rise back up again as an eternal vampire. You have become repellent to me with your preachings of hope that I can no longer bear to stomach. And after this moment, I will never spare a moment's thought for you again."

And then blackness took her down, enfolding her in its suffocating arms.

* * *

She desperately struggled through the black mire of her dark and bloody dream. Moaning, whimpering deep in her throat. Tears stung at her eyes as her lids fluttered rapidly. Her body trembled and shook in quakes of mortal terror.

She opened her eyes to dimness. Above her, a male figure loomed quite close. She shrieked loudly and jerked away.

"Mina?"

She whimpered again and drew away, clutching at the sheet, holding it close to her defenseless body. Her nightmare was still upon her and she scrambled off the bed and into a corner against a near wall. She was not herself. She shuddered. She wept. She sobbed.

"Mina?"

The figure rose from the bed and moved to turn up the lamp light. In the brightened glow, her vision cleared and she saw him.

Alexander. Her Alexander. Healthy, handsome, loving Alexander. His face drawn with worry, concern.

"Mina?"

He did not move to approach her, for he saw her face. And he knew. Without her admission, he knew her dream. It was written upon her in deep lines of intense, straining fear.

He stood still with his hands down at his sides. He held his peaceful demeanor and a calm countenance for her though his insides churned with emotion. He had hurt her. Simply by being present in her life. He had reached out and molested that most secret, private place with his evil, his curse. The place no one stepped foot save her. Her dreams.

But while yet she trembled and remained defenseless, he could not, would not, leave her alone in the dark. And so he stood unmoving. Farther away from the door than she so that if she chose, she may flee and be done with him.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

They stayed thus for a time. Her thick, dark hair hung tangled, partially obscuring her pale, drawn face as she struggled to regain control of herself.

Eventually, she calmed enough to move. Slowly. Not toward the door. Toward him. He remained still. She continued her slow approach, gripping the white covering around her.

He marveled at her stalwart bravery even as it pricked at his cursed heart.

When she was close enough to reach out and touch him, she stopped. They stood there staring into each other's eyes across a vast chasm of fateful complications.

Finally, she spoke.

"There is nothing to forgive. It was but a bad dream."

Her voice almost didn't tremble.

* * *

**I titled this chapter after a famous painting by Goya. No copyright sin intended.**

**Some of you wanted to read Mina straight-up experience the vampire Dracula. And a little blood exchange sequence, if I am correct. Well, this is as close as I'm willing to get. At least until the finale.**

**An inspiration for this chapter (other than my son having screaming night terrors) is the song "Fine Again" by Seether.**

**And I know none of you were fooled into thinking that was real, especially considering the title. So my question is did the emotion came through clear enough?**

**Hmmm? ;winks devilishly;**

**Catch the Weeping Angel reference in the first part? No? Great, I'm all crazy all alone. ;) Just kidding.**

**Thanks to CherryWillow19 and Cloelius Princess for your great reviews.**

**And to my manaradel98 for all your grace and kindness. You are a most gracious angel.**

**Oh yes, and thanks to everyone who has continued to offer up ideas and suggestions for our story. I love it! Keep 'em coming. Especially you, deelove1, you little genius, you. ;)**


	22. A Lesser Man

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I do so appreciate the sun ever so much now.

The Long Game

Chapter 22: A Lesser Man

* * *

R.M Renfield reclined alone in the quiet bedchamber. A warming fire crackled in the fireplace and chased away the evening chill. His bedclothes were comfortable, though he longed to be up and able once again. There was work to be done. Much work in the employ of the man he called Alexander Grayson. Much work done in twelve years. And much work that still lay ahead.

Twelve years. Twelve years since their fateful meeting that evening on the steaming locomotive. He, R.M. Renfield, Esq., playing porter to that rich, self-important man at the cards table. That man, that dead man. What had been his name? Haverdashim? Havercashism? Havershim, yes that had been his name. Had been. Before his . . . mysterious disappearance. He had never departed the locomotive. Never heard from again.

Renfield smiled to himself.

From the moment he had lain eyes upon the man who had referred to himself as Alexander Grayson, he had known the man needed a fellow collaborator. Walking into the presence of that old reptile Havershim without invitation, ally, or defensive weapon. Grayson had appeared a most foolish individual.

Renfield had watched and had seen everything before it would happen. The old goat, Havershim would speak briefly, dismissively, and then his cowboy bodyguards would dispatch this newcomer without a second thought.

This Grayson man had no chance. That much was obvious. Slight build, several inches shy of six feet. Soft European accent. He was clearly walking straight into trouble. His primly worded statement in regard to his dislike of guns. The gentleman was a breathing target for these swine.

Renfield had known, just known, there was going to be trouble.

And yet, there was something else about him as well. This Grayson. He was fearless, he was absolute, he had already won what he had come to obtain. At least in his mind.

And so Renfield had watched and waited.

It had all begun just as he had surmised. Up to a certain point. Grayson alone, surrounded by three menacing, gun-toting cowboys. He had stood alone, not even appearing concerned with his rapidly deteriorating situation. The old bear still playing at his cards.

And so Renfield had stepped forward and voiced his first words to this intriguing fellow Grayson. Words of logic and guidance. He had no way of knowing that it would be the first of many.

Grayson had noted him. Noted the intelligence of his words and appreciated them, though he had kept it close to the vest at those first vital moments. And Renfield had noted that as well. And had decided that this man, this Alexander Grayson, was a man with whom it was most important to be in close affiliation. Though he had not immediately understood why.

He had straightaway paid for his interference with a solid beating from the old crocodile and his salivating porch dogs. He had not asked for help and to fight back would have surely earned him an abrupt lynching at the next depot. He had sensed, amid the kicks, that Grayson drawing back from the fight. Most unfortunate, his misconjectures of the man.

Then everything had changed. Grayson had dispatched one and then the next and so on and so forth. Until the boxcar was splashed with blood and bathed in silence. Through his blurred, pulsing vision, Grayson had walked past him, toting the dismembered head of Havershim in a most casual manner.

Surely no mere man could have wrought such decisive, quick destruction. Renfield had been jumbled, confused, throbbing with pain. Then Grayson, his visage dotted with dead men's blood, had appeared once more above him and bent down slowly. The fleeting notion that he was next had flown almost as quickly as it had alit in his chaotic brain.

"You're safe now."

Not quite the words he had expected to hear from this deadly creature. But he had answered with a shaking nod nevertheless.

And so this mysterious man Grayson had escorted him to his private berth where Renfield's wounds were carefully cleaned and tended. And when he was somewhat recovered from his impromptu beating, he was outfitted in fine, tailored clothing. Disclosing his own story to Grayson was not something to which he was accustomed, but the man listened quietly and made few comments.

". . . be examined under the Missouri bar," Renfield had said.

Grayson's wryly spoken words. "I presume you passed."

Renfield had not been able to fully suppress a dry expression. _Passed_? No. Excelled was the appropriate word. Top marks. Never a higher score achieved in the entire state. Though they had not told him. No. Most certainly not they. Remick, the white abolitionist, had. With the utmost pride for his apt pupil, Renfield.

As he had concluded his tale, the telling of which was colored with neither pity nor martyrdom, he had placed a distinguished new bowler hat upon his head. Looking every bit the fine upstanding man he had always desired to be viewed as, he had smiled at his image. But there had remained a most important question to be answered.

The mysterious Grayson, hunkered in the shadows, had passed it off as fulfilling a simple need for a lawyer. And Renfield had not been convinced. Then Grayson had cited their bond as fellow outcasts. That too had only been scratching the surface of the truth, though creeping ever closer.

Renfield, a man of integrity all his own, had lain the ultimatum at Grayson's feet. The truth in complete trust, or none at all. And against all odds, Grayson, after careful consideration of the large, dark man, had complied. They had shaken hands.

And R.M. Renfield's life had indeed never been the same again.

They had traveled far and wide during the last twelve years. Sometimes in the company of van Helsing, sometimes without. Sometimes with a bevy of persons; sometimes just the two of them.

Renfield had seen things wondrous to behold. Some beautiful and stunning; some dark and terrible. Grayson had revealed his true self, his unique tale. And though it defied all good sense and logic, Renfield believed it completely.

Once, in some backwater saloon, a blind-drunk man had not so subtly insinuated quite loudly that there was an unnatural relationship between Renfield and Grayson. And that Renfield, being of alternate skin tone and soft spoken, served as the woman. Slowly, like a sleekly stalking panther, Grayson had turned to look the man full in the eyes, his gaze unblinking, unwavering. Even in his heavily inebriated state, the imbecile had recognized the look of certain death upon Grayson's face and slunk away.

He had not gotten farther than the alley. Grayson had later claimed his blood had tasted viler than the slosh served in the public house. Renfield had not spoken, only nodded his assent. Glad to see that was the end of it.

New duties as of late. Minute as correcting Grayson's American pronunciations. Moderately larger duties such as serving as presenter at societal functions. Making reservations. Attending to the books. Bribing people when needed. Obtaining information on specially selected people. Miss Murray. Harker. The men of the Order Draco whom Grayson intended to kill.

Serving as front man. Grayson's voice, his representative to go where he could not. Into the light. Renfield always felt a certain level of pride in behaving as a proper gentleman when those who felt he was beneath them fell to his feet, their mannerliness torn to shreds. Because, he believed, that their mannerliness only held as far as their status held. But his mannerliness held much longer. Because he chose for it to.

Larger, more demanding duties. Though few could see the heavy, enormous responsibility of them.

As the situation warranted, he attempted to provide sound guidance to Grayson. Grayson, who often responded in an outwardly perturbed manner. But surely some of his carefully worded counsels resonated inwardly with the stubborn man, mightily as Grayson strove to contain his true mentality. When possible, Renfield's advisements frequently contained an ounce or two of the droll. Just to bring some levity to a soul who so greatly needed it. Calling Grayson "sir" in and out of the public light, for instance.

Patiently listening, always listening, to Grayson's ruminations. The painful recollections of a life destroyed. The rage-filled rants of a boiling man who sought vengeance against the organization who had burned his love and cursed him to forever be a demon.

He had stood by and observed Grayson's efforts to tame the impetuous nature of his oldest ally, Josef Cervenka. Watched the man use his loyalty against him in order to manipulate the lady huntsman. Watched him send the man out to die. Watched him grieve over his orchestrated demise. Then watched him more forward and speak of him no more.

When he was abducted and suffered so terribly at the hands of that witch of a woman, Renfield had known death awaited him. He would never answer her question, though he knew the answer well. But he would die now, alone, in great pain and suffering. Without answering the question. The question that any living soul could have answered quite easily seeing Grayson and Miss Murray together. He would die at the hands of this willowy beast of a woman with all her cruel torture instruments_._ Unless Grayson intervened.

And he had. And Renfield had laughed. Through his screaming pain and misery, he had laughed. Long and loud, through all the broken, bleeding parts of his body, he had laughed.

Renfield knew the tides were now changing. For ill or good, he could not yet determine. But he did not waver his devotion to Alexander Grayson. He simply set himself, held fast to his convictions. And waited for the next move in the game.

Twelve years. Twelve years and eight months now in the association of Grayson. So long for him. Yet so short he supposed for the man whom he had devoted his energies.

A lesser man might have broken underneath the weight of all that had come to pass. R.M. Renfield, Esquire however, was not a lesser man.

Slowly, resolutely, Renfield began to disengage himself from his bedsheets and rise. It could wait no longer. Grayson's enemies were still about, gathering their strength and forces against him. The longer Grayson chose to ignore them in favor of more pleasant daydreams, the more powerful they would become.

It was time to discover the fate of that monstrous contraption that gave Alexander Grayson, Vlad Tepes, _Dracula_, dominion over the burning rays of the sun.

* * *

**This chapter has been lying around gathering dust. I published it before and then ripped it off. Now, although it contains only references to Grayson and the others, I'm publishing it for Angel's babe, who requested more of the Renfield. Yeah, I said it. _The_ Renfield. ;)**

**Plus, we all gotta take a deep breath and calm down from the last chapter, don't we? :)**

**Thanks to deelove1, Mistress-Cinder, Angel's babe, CherryWillow19, Cloelius Princess, and babyphoenixprime for your reviews.**

**And to everyone else still reading as well, thanks so very very much!**


	23. Blood Moon

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

I do appreciate the sun ever so much more now.

The Long Game

Chapter 23: Blood Moon

* * *

They sat in the dark of the moving carriage. Close together and yet so far apart.

After much gentle coercion, Mina had reluctantly revealed the gruesome details of her nightmare. And Alexander had been appalled by her revelations though he had tried to keep his horror contained. Aside from the terrible things he had said in the dream, the notion that he would ever brutalize his Mina by forcing his curse upon her was sickening.

Of course he had heard of such things long ago from Josef. The almost erotic physical ecstasy of blood exchange. The intimacy of exchanged emotions, thoughts, and memories. It was apparently a singular sensation to experience.

Alexander himself in all his loneliness and desolation had never been able to bring himself partake in the ritual. He saw vampirism only as a curse, a punishment. It was one thing to turn persons for use as allies. Or to punish those deserving of a sentence of undead banishment.

But to twist that into carnal pleasure was an abomination to him. It was something he doubted he could have even done to Lady Jayne Weatherby after discovering her monstrous torture chamber in the underground alcoves of her mansion.

He looked now at Mina, sitting opposite him, her current thoughts a veiled mystery. Her lovely face seemed closed and distant. Her thick, luxuriant hair tied back in preparation for the midnight excursion. She was lovely even in her strain. Strain caused by her associations with him.

As for Mina herself, she felt a renewed sense of urgency to actively commence the serum project. Intellectually, she knew the dream was a reflection of her damaged psyche caused by Alexander's unfortunate condition. And emotionally she knew that, left unchecked, it would destroy them both. And as much as she loved Alexander, she was not willing to submissively sit by and allow her life to crumble to ash.

Renfield had insisted a short while before, quite adamantly, that the time had come to discover the fate of the solar machine. She had concurred both with reluctance to his still weakened condition and relief to move forward with their plans. Together they had decided they would journey onward with or without Alexander's help. Though she was quite glad he had chosen to accompany them after all.

The carriage slowed further and stopped. Almost against his will, Alexander subtly nudged her foot with his own, breaking through the solitude of her inner machinations. She blinked and then offered him a lovely, brave smile though it struggled to completely reach her eyes. He returned her gaze though he did not feel entirely worth of it.

After a moment, Renfield opened the door.

"We can ride no further, sir. We must continue on foot."

Alexander nodded stiffly to Mina.

"Very well."

He exited the interior of the carriage and turning, assisted his lady out as well. Renfield closed the door firmly behind them.

The night sky was dark and vast above them. As always, Mina looked up, ever hopeful for a glimpse of the beautiful, glistening stars. Instead, she was beheld a much more rare sight.

A full, glowing moon hung above them in the clouded sky. It appeared to be tinged with red.

"Oh, look, Alexander! Look at the moon!"

Her awe took her away from her dark cares for a brief moment. She simply believed in beauty and wonder and possibility.

He looked upon her open face and started to smile at her almost childish marvel. It faded even as it began. For as he looked up Mina's upturned face, a suddenly terrible image flitted through his mind. The full moon, pregnant and bloated, dripping splatters of crimson down onto her exquisite, upturned face.

Renfield broke through the ghastly moment after a brief glance at the silent, observing orb.

"It's truly lovely, miss. Time is of the essence, however. We should continue on please."

And so they did.

They were still near a block away from the building that had once housed the promising Resonator project. Though crews of men had been working to clear the rubble away during the week since the explosion, much remained to be move.

They advanced carefully, purposefully through the wreckage. Renfield managed to maintain a stoic countenance but his attending physician could tell he was experiencing increasing discomfort. She chastised herself for allowing him to come along and then wondered how she could have possibly stopped him.

Alexander's entire being grew heavier with each passing step. Here. Where all his labors and promise had come to an explosive fiery end. All those people hurt, those helpless pawns. The senselessness of it all.

And of course Lady Jayne Weatherby. He had harbored murderous intentions toward her after discovering her vampire captive deep below her bed chambers. He had crept to her with salty, bitter tears upon his skin, fully intending to dispatch her as painfully as possible. Perhaps put her below to suffer even more agony from her female prisoner. And to reveal to her upon her dying breath the reason for her pain.

But at the crucial moment, as he hovered above her like a stalking panther poised to pounce, pragmatism had won out over vengeance. To kill her before the opportune moment would have only complicated the precarious situation further.

Upon the death of Lady Jayne, the Order would surely send a new hunter after him. Most likely, a male. He did not relish the thought of garnering the trust of a new male hunter, much less seducing one.

And so she had lived as long as he could allow her. But when she found him after the Resonator explosion, her end had finally come. A violent end, of that there was no doubt. But he was sure that was the way she would have preferred to die. Bathed in blood.

They arrived at the decimated building that dead-ended the cobble stoned street. Lighting the lanterns they had brought with them, they entered the dark ruins of the once proud structure.

And the blood moon watched over them, full and red and ominous in the night sky.

* * *

**Okay, did anyone else just stare agape at the scene with Alexander _crying_ as he approaches Lady Jayne's bedchambers after finding the suffering vampire? Seriously, I was all shaken up.**

**Any_who_, thanks for continuing to read and support this story.**


	24. To Not Turn Away

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

It's okay though. I'm taking it back. ;)

The Long Game

Chapter 24: To Not Turn Away

* * *

_I can do this. I can do this._

Mina took deep, stabilizing breaths while she stood alone staring into blank space, preparing herself for what was to come.

_I can do this. I can do this._

She first lowered her chin down, eyes closed. Paused. Then raised her head up to the unseen heavens above the dark ceiling.

_I can do this. I can do this._

She opened her blue eyes. Took one more deep breath and held it. Then she let it out slowly between her pursed lips. She gathered all her strength, all her courage, all her fortitude. She wrapped it around her and readied herself for battle.

"Miss Murray? Are you ready?"

She turned to face Renfield. His intelligent, strained face was unreadable but his eyes spoke louder, more clear than any words he could have uttered.

"No," she answered honestly.

He tilted his head, one eyebrow raised just a little, as she spoke once more.

"Now let us proceed," she stated simply.

He nodded slowly, watching her with care.

"Yes, Miss."

He had already tried to speak with her about the intensity of the situation in which she would soon find herself. She had listened, seemingly without hearing, patiently to everything he said. But he thought perhaps she refused to take his words entirely to heart for fear that she would lose the resilience she needed for the trial ahead.

She walked to him, laid a hand on his arm, and looked at him.

"Thank you, Renfield."

He nodded again, still unaccustomed to the familiarity of her touch.

"Yes, Miss. Of course."

She gazed deep into his dark eyes as if drawing strength from his stalwart soul. He let her, knowing she would need every ounce of it.

Then she let him go and walked resolutely into the open space beyond.

* * *

The large, circular, metal machine stood in the center of the room. It was monstrous and barbaric looking. And in a way it was. It channeled huge amounts of electricity through its thick metal coils and poured them directly into whatever the metal touched. As though it were a medieval torture instrument that belonged in the laboratory of Victor Frankenstein

As of now, the thing that touched that metal was a man.

Alexander Grayson.

She was planning on electrocuting him.

And he was going to let her.

* * *

Of course, there had been an inspection and testing of the machine for several days now. This ungodly machine that had been remarkably unscathed by the destruction of the Resonator.

Followed by a thorough examination of the patient himself by Miss Mina Murray back at Carfax Manor. To discover what, if anything, van Helsing had missed in his calculations.

"May I?" she had requested, almost shyly.

A mischievous gleam had touched his translucent eyes as he had responded.

"Only if you promise to be gentle."

The light hearted quip had made her laugh, much as she had when he had joked of her dislike of hospitals becoming a problem when she became a doctor. He had known she would find amusement on both occasions. Which had been his purposeful intention each time. He had smiled along with her, enjoying the moment of her levity while he could.

"A good doctor is _always_ gentle with patients," she had answered primly. "Well, more or less. 'Tis a learned ability, I've heard."

He had spread his arms wide with a flourish.

"Well, then feel free to practice on me all you like."

They had chuckled together until Mina moved on to business.

"Remove your shirt please."

He had raised his eyebrows and smirked slyly.

"Yes, ma'am."

Mina had proven to be every bit the professional she should. A bit more than necessary, in Alexander's opinion. With her examination completed, she had instructed him to redress, much to his disappointment. Though he had respected her all the more for it.

* * *

And now the time had come.

To turn Dracula, the Fell One, Nosferatu, Primo Master Vampire, human. If only for a short while.

Alexander lay bound upon the huge, metal contraption. His wrists and ankles held fast by metal clamps. He wore only a white cloth across himself. He was completely vulnerable.

If she so wished, Mina could destroy him right now and he would be powerless to stop her.

Or she could grant him the temporary gift of humanity and sunlight.

He was breathing deeply and slowly, much as she had been doing moments before as she stood alone.

Which scared her all the more.

_I can't do this. I cannot do this._

She fought down her panic. And walked toward him.

"Alexander?"

He did not speak, only looked upon her. She let him, forcing a smile, knowing the sight of her was buoying him up for the suffering that lay ahead. It was why she wore blue today and why she wore her hair down. She knew the sight of her as he so loved to see would help make his suffering the merest bit more endurable.

"Are you ready to proceed?"

He nodded and kept his eyes locked on hers. His contained dread lay locked behind his determined eyes. She caught the briefest glimpse of it as it peeked and reached out to her beseechingly. She did not look away from it. She would endure this with him, as much as she could.

Renfield squeezed water over Grayson's shackled wrists without speaking. His heart pounded within him. All the agony of the previous procedures on this machine raced through his mind.

Much against his will, Renfield had participated with van Helsing in the disturbing efforts to immune Grayson to the burning rays of the sun. Grayson, then as now, lay stripped nearly bare and lashed to the massive, metal apparatus.

It had been horrendous.

He, Renfield, securing the bonds. Wetting the metal for the most efficient conduction. Pulling the huge lever to send massive doses of electricity surging through the body of the only man he most respected, perhaps even loved.

And now again.

Renfield positioned himself at the huge lever marked D after securing a secondary lever to ensure maximum electrical output. Mina continued to look into Alexander's eyes and he into hers.

Alexander Grayson, Vlad Tepis, lay on the cold metal mechanism and steeled himself. Looked into the eyes of her. Beautiful her. And thought of the sun. Her in the sun. With him.

Mina drew upon her last vestiges of willpower and hope. Denying her fear to crush her.

_I will do this. I will give him the sun. And his humanity._

"Now," Mina said.

The white lightening hit him. More powerful than ever before. Surging through his entire body, slamming through his muscles, through his brain. And his thoughts were gone in a burst of searing fire.

Mina watched his body tremble, nay, vibrate with power of the electricity. Her entire body clenched in pure agony at the horrible display. But she never looked away. Not even as the tears stung at her eyes. And her heart and brain screamed in terror.

Renfield pushed the lever back, disconnecting the power. Alexander's body stopped its throes and lay still. He stared blankly at the ceiling then moved his eyes, only his eyes, down to hers once more.

Mina. Ilona. Mina. Ilona. They trembled side by side. Fused together. And he no longer knew who exactly he was looking upon. Only that he loved her. Mina. Ilona. Them.

Mina continued to hold his gaze, tears coursing down her cheeks. She moved forward and put the stethoscope around her neck to his chest. His heart was beating. She nodded for the benefit of the waiting Renfield and backed up to her former position, never taking her eyes from Alexander's.

She would not leave him during this his most needed time. She would not turn away.

_I love you_, she was saying without a word.

_I know._

Renfield moved quickly over to the wheel that lifted Grayson toward the waiting circle of ten, long piercing needles. Needles which would administer the solar serum directly into his heart.

This as well was all too familiar.

The first time. Seeing the fear, the pain, the shock in Grayson's eyes as he turned his head and looked at Renfield. The dreaded silent command to continue the torture. He, Renfield, rotating the large wheel to raise Grayson's bare chest toward those ten long, piercing needles to puncture him deeply with burning serum. That serum that had been purposefully rendered ineffective by van Helsing himself.

This time, however, Alexander did not watch those brutal needles pierce his vulnerable flesh. He kept his eyes trained on her. Only her.

_I love you,_ he was saying without a word.

_I know._

She did not take her eyes off him as she reached over and felt for the two small dials she needed. She flicked them, sending the burning solar serum into her lover's heart and into his veins.

Renfield remembered this as well.

Almost equal to the monstrosity of the procedure itself was the dark delight in the eyes of van Helsing as he directed the steps of the barbaric process. The atrocity of the blood-thirsty creature Dracula paled in comparison to the monstrosity of the beast that had gleamed out of the rotting soul of Abraham van Helsing.

On the contrary, now, Mina Murray held no such darkness within her own soul. Her blue eyes wept silent tears and shone with sorrow, determination, and love. She never looked away from the suffering man trapped upon the machine.

Not even when his screams sang from his throat and resonated through the entire space with his unbearable pain. Not even when his body thrashed and his veins distended and pulsed with the pressure of the serum being forced through every last vessel.

Mina never looked away. Not even as his screams split her entire being in two, drove ripping spikes into her heart, her brain, the spots behind her eyes. She did not turn away.

And then all was still and quiet.

Like a silent blanket of death.

* * *

When he came back to himself, he was no longer strapped to the machine. His body lay still and bare, stretched out upon the cold floor. His head cradled in Mina's arms and on her breast. She was rocking him gently, slowly. And whispering.

"I'm sorry. I had to do it, Alexander. I love you."

Over and over. Whispering into his ears. Barely audible. Her tears dripped down upon his face.

His body. It felt . . . _different_.

He opened his eyes and looked upon her weeping face. Would he always cause her tears?

"Mina."

"Alexander."

He gained his feet unsteadily. Renfield, eyes wide and questioning, helped him into his clothing. Mina stood nearby, wiping her tears away. Watchful and waiting.

When he was dressed, he stood still, looking at them. Mina and Renfield. His saviors. He smiled at them.

And _ran_.

* * *

**The silent exchanges of humanity between Renfield and Alexander during that scene in "Monsters and Men' just tore me up. Did anyone else almost cry for both of them?**

**How long can this peace last you may ask? I'll quote The Matrix: "As long as it can."**

**Now, for those of you who do not wish for Alexander to turn human:**

**1) You are just cruel. *sticking my tongue out at you***

**2) Yes, I do get it.**

**3 ) Just enjoy the happy for a bit, yeah?**

**4) Trust me, okay? I know where we're going.**

**Thanks to deelove1, Cloelius Princess, and sbenton1 for your kind encouragement and continuing reviews.**

**Thanks to Ashes Mercy Tatum for adding your support to this tale as well.**

**Thanks to LouBlue, not even a reader of this story, but a most helpful encouragement to me and my writing.**


	25. Days Spent in the Sun

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

Still taking it back, though. ;)

The Long Game

Chapter 25: Days Spent in the Sun

* * *

Mina stood in the dark alcove, watching Alexander's form outlined in the light glinting from the watery docks beyond. He stood still, just out of reach of the sun. His shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, hands braced on either side of the peeling doorframe.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity though it was only a few seconds.

His heart pounded in his still aching chest. Though he had walked in the light of the day on a few occasions within the last several months, the experience continued to be exhilarating. And terrifying. He had to remind himself that it was safe, that the sun would not set him aflame.

He stepped forward slowly, into the beckoning light. It caressed his exposed flesh, kissing him with warm lips, and thawing the thick marrow in his bones.

He raised his face, closing his eyes, and basked in the rays of the welcoming sun.

Mina moved forward to the doorway to watch him, entranced, as he ventured further and stood in obvious wonder and glorious delight in the light of day.

The water of the channel lapped quietly, its gentle undulations throwing sparkles of diamonds into Mina's still misting eyes.

Her vision blurred and she caught her breath in horror as she watched Alexander burst into sudden flames without warning. He burned and threw off black smoke like dry leaves devoid of life-giving moisture.

She blinked rapidly, her heart seizing within her chest, and then her sight cleared.

Alexander still stood with his back to her in the open space near the abandoned dock. His head tilted up, hands slightly upraised to the gift of the sunlight.

He turned then and saw her gazing at him. He raised his hand out to her, an invitation for her to join him in the sun. Light and life glittering in his blue green eyes, a smile upon his lips. She moved forward and placed her hand in his. He drew her to him and embraced her.

It was the first time he had touched her in the sunlight.

He was warmer than she ever remembered him. His lips, his hands, were more warmly human on her skin than ever before.

Renfield appeared unnoticed in the doorway. He watched them for a brief moment. Then his gaze travelled from the two happy lovers to the fiery orb of the sun and back again.

He wanted to believe in the possibility of miracles. For Alexander Grayson. For Miss Mina Murray. For himself.

But how long would this particular miracle last?

* * *

He kissed her deeply, savoring the sweet taste of her, the soft feel of her, the clean scent of her, the muted sounds catching in her delicate throat.

Then he drew back and looked upon her. Her beauty, so bathed in sunlight. He gently held her face with both hands. She smiled, pouring even more sunlight into his soul.

"I feel . . ." he began, his words trailing off.

Mina hung on the words of his that floated upward into the air above.

"Yes?"

He made a soft sound in his throat that made her tingle.

"I feel . . ."

He gazed so closely at her she could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes.

"What?" she questioned, quirking an eyebrow at him.

His hands brushed through her flowing hair.

"I feel . . . hungry."

Her dream started to flit through her mind but it reversed and retreated into the deep, dark recesses at the tender look on his open face.

"Yes. Hungry," he continued decisively. Then he cocked his head at her. "What do you like most to eat?"

"You have taken food and drink," she said, not comprehending. "I have seen you."

He nodded.

"Yes, I have. But I could not truly enjoy it because it could not quench my hunger. Now, Mina, what do you like most to eat?"

She squinted her eyes playfully in concentration.

"Hmmm, let's see. Where to start? Mmm . . . I know. _Dessert_."

* * *

On the second day, they walked all over London.

They moved amicably together, arm in arm, among their fellow human pedestrians. A vast blue sky dotted with fluffy, white clouds hung above them.

They weren't journeying to any particular destination. Alexander just wanted to walk in the sun. Mina was more than willing to accommodate him though she had no idea where they were going.

And as they walked, they talked. About anything. About everything.

Mina found she had never been so happy.

Some people nodded and spoke to them.

"Lovely morning, sir."

"That it is, sir. That it is."

Some people took no notice of them, too involved in their own affairs. Which was quite alright.

Some people frowned at them, some openly glared.

One older gentlewoman actually spoke, her round frame threatening to burst through her fine clothes.

"So, Mr. Grayson, I see that _you've_ recovered from the Resonator explosion. How very _fortunate_ for you, sir."

Alexander blinked in surprise. Then recovered quickly enough to speak. His tone was calm and even.

"I assure you, madam, I never meant for . . ."

The large woman huffed, the feather in her hat bobbing dangerously.

"Oh, I have no doubt you never _meant_ for it to happen. I mean, who _would_?"

Alexander opened his mouth to speak again. Mina intervened before he could.

"How _dare_ you? You have _no_ idea, no right . . ."

The woman continued on, unabated, like a steaming locomotive on route toward its awaiting terminus.

"What I am saying _is_, now that is it _has_ happened, what are you going to _do_ about it?"

The lady's thin husband arrived at her elbow, having been delayed for some unexplainable reason.

"Come along now, Mother. The grandchildren are waiting."

And he rushed her away, leaving Alexander and Mina afloat in their stormy wake.

Mina turned to Alexander. He appeared slightly flattened.

"Alexander, are you alright?"

He nodded, offered her his arm, and they continued to walk along. She watched him surreptitiously. After a while, he spoke.

"She wasn't wrong, though, Mina."

"Pardon?"

Alexander slowed to a stop and turned to her.

"I should do something in recompense for those who lost loved ones."

Mina tilted her head curiously.

"What do you have in mind?"

* * *

A heated debate held forth in a secret room. A few men. Rich men. Men of a very clandestine social order.

"Our suspicions cannot rest solely on Alexander Grayson! It is highly unlikely the man is Dracula! He walks in broad daylight! Through the very streets of London! It is preposterous!"

"Yes, but Browning suspected him. Before his mysterious disappearance. As did Lady Jayne Weatherby after a while. And she was one of the most skilled huntsmen ever to pursue vampires."

"Yes, no doubt, but she was flawed in her perceptions. Understandably of course. Her being a _woman_ and all."

"But she was found at the site of the Resonator explosion, a gash in her neck, and drained almost completely of blood. Something, someone bested her. Not an easy feat."

"And what of the legendary seer? The Italian? What was his name?"

"Who? Loiza Scaverra? Yes, it appears that making contact and looking upon the face of the most feared vampire in all of ancient lore has done the poor fellow in. Babbling nonsense of earth-bound angels and true redemption. He has fled back to his homeland to seek asylum in a monastery under a vow of silence."

"Well, that seems rather _un_legendary of him, doesn't it?"

"Yes, quite right. And we paid his roundtrip steamship ticket to boot."

"Ah, let the blasted boat sink for all I care . . ."

"Gentleman, gentleman, may we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Oh, Grayson _again_? Come now, must we revisit this same argument?"

"You know, perhaps we could call upon our new member, young Mr. Harker. He seems to have a knack for getting himself right in the thick of things, doesn't he?"

"Hmm . . . Harker . . . yes . . . interesting . . ."

* * *

With the assistance of Mina and Renfield, Alexander obtained a list of known victims of the Resonator explosion. Many of them were not extremely well off and had lost a family member who provided for the well-being of their families. Alexander spent an entire day of his precious sunlight from morning until dusk privately visiting as many as he could, bearing gifts of needed supplies and sustenance. He asked their forgiveness for the senseless tragedy and most of the families responded tearfully, graciously.

Mina and Renfield looked on with a sense of wonder at the sincere humanity being displayed by the man who had been, and would once more be, the vampire Dracula.

* * *

"Walking! In broad daylight! As though he were not what he is! As though he were . . . _human_!"

The older voice raged in a fit. The younger voice responded somewhat wearily, having trod this road quite frequently, quite recently.

"Maybe he is now. There has been evidence he is still abstaining from drinking blood."

A disgusted huff.

"Vampires don't turn _human_, Mr. Harker. They are _vampires_. They are eternally _damned_."

A pause. Then a crash, as if something were thrown and broken against a wall.

"Giving out food to poor little orphaned families! Parading about, pretending to be some upright philanthropist! He isn't even attacking the Order anymore!"

"Isn't this what you tried to help him achieve? Invulnerability to sunlight?"

"Yes, but only so that he could destroy the Order! And not for days upon end! Only long enough to give him a sense of hope!"

Another crash. The younger voice spoke again.

"Maybe he has stopped. Maybe he is choosing peace over vengeance."

Sarcasm dripped from the first voice in response to this new idea.

"Oh, yes, how very _noble_. So you now wish to join them in sun, Mr. Harker? Flit about like inane fools, while the Order destroys more and more lives and is never made to answer for their crimes?! Perhaps just to be close to her like a desperate little serving boy for when he runs off to drain the blood of the innocents?!"

A sigh.

"No, of course not, Mr. van Helsing. What I want is . . . another drink."

More dry, snide derision.

"Yes, _brilliant_ plan of action, Mr. Harker. Drink yourself into a blind stupor so that you cannot see what is sneaking up behind you to drain you dry in the dead hours before dawn."

Mutterings, barely audible, from the younger voice.

"Perhaps they shall be more merciful than you and drain me without holding forth a lecture first."

"What was that, Mr. Harker? I have difficulty hearing you. I thought I might have heard something. Was it perhaps the sound of a grown man staking a tiny child to ashes?"

The tightly wound voice bit out the words.

"No, Mr. van Helsing. It most decidedly was _not_."

* * *

"Would you like to drive?"

The sudden question caught her off guard and Mina looked at Alexander in surprise. She was sitting next to him, having asked, quite out of hand, if they could take a ride in his motor car. It was such an interesting, modern invention and the sunny afternoon seemed quite pleasantly accommodating for an adventure.

"Really?"

He smiled at her evident excitement. Her light blue dress accentuated her lovely features as did her hair, partially held back and tousled by the whispering breeze.

"Yes. Shall I teach you?"

She looked at him sitting next to her in his fine suit. Casual, yet elegant and stylish. His translucent eyes glinted with mischief and gaiety. It only took a moment for her to make up her mind.

"Yes!"

He put his right arm around her shoulders lightly.

"Good." He pointed. "That lever is the brake. Release it."

She did so and the motor car began moving forward, its engine puttering beneath them. Her heart leapt at the feel of the machine moving to her whim. A bright smile spread across her face and lit the day for him all the more. She laughed happily.

He continued his instruction.

"Now, this lever turns the car either to the left or the right."

She grasped the handle and turned it experimentally. The motor car shifted to the right. She turned it the opposite direction and they turned toward the left. Then she straightened it back out and they ambled straight forward once again.

Mina Murray, with Alexander Grayson at her side, drove across the bridge away from Carfax. Trepidation and excitement mixed together within her as she kept her eyes trained on the road ahead. Once across, she could not resist looking triumphantly at the man next to her.

"I did it! That was incredible!" she exclaimed.

He smiled back at her beaming face and then glanced at the road. His expression changed from happiness to alarm.

"Mina! Look out for the cat!"

_"Oh!"_

* * *

"Yes, Renfield, I understand what you are saying."

"Then will you assist me in this matter? He won't listen to me, miss. Perhaps he will listen to you."

"I have tried to discuss it with him, but he doesn't seem concerned, Renfield."

"Miss Murray, what if it happens suddenly? What if he starts to _burn_ in public? Not only may he not survive, but if he does, his secret will be out. And then where will we be?"

"Yes, I know, Renfield, but short of tying him up in a cage, I don't see how we can stop him."

"Pardon my directness, miss, but a cage is still preferable to immolation."

_"Renfield!"_

"Well, it is, miss."

"Yes. I know."

* * *

"Ah, Miss Johnson."

The young maid turned to the master of the house as he approached her.

"Yes, sir?"

A pleasant expression sat on his handsome face and she smiled hesitantly. Mr. Grayson did not usually smile at anyone.

"It is a beautiful day," he stated.

She nodded uncertainly.

"Yes, sir."

He waved a hand toward the shuttered windows.

"Please have all the windows of Carfax opened. We need to let some light into this darkness."

She tried not to look surprised. Mr. Grayson never opened the windows.

"Yes, sir."

He nodded, started to turn away, then looked back to her once more.

"And have everyone take the rest of the afternoon off."

She forgot her manners and stared openly at him.

_"Sir?"_

He smiled kindly at her surprise.

"They should return by dusk to close the windows and resume their duties."

She managed to regain her composure enough to respond.

"Um, yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

And off he went. She watched him, baffled. She could have sworn there was a definite spring in his step.

* * *

As the days passed on, Renfield had become obsessed with baggage.

He became very efficient at secreting large, heavy blankets in carriages and Grayson's motor car and bringing them along casually stowed away in bags whenever he managed to accompany Mr. Grayson on outings.

He wanted to relax and enjoy the exuberant man's new found freedom.

But R.M. Renfield, Esquire, was a pragmatist. He knew that Grayson was walking in the sunlight on borrowed time. Even if the man himself refused to face it. And that, eventually, that sun that he loved so much would betray him.

If it was at all within his power, Renfield swore he would save Grayson from this burning demise.

He even began composing cover-up stories to spread if witnesses saw a seemingly ordinary man suddenly begin to burn in the middle of London.

Renfield wanted to believe in the power of miracles.

But he wanted to keep Alexander Grayson alive more.

* * *

And in yet another fairy tale turn of events, London was experiencing several consecutive warm, sunny, rainless days. It was as if Nature itself was showing its approval and support for all their efforts and expressing it though copious amounts of warmth and sunshine.

Mina suggested a midday picnic in the park. It all seemed rather deliciously ordinary and familiar. And Alexander Grayson, a man of the sun, agreed gladly.

They sat and watched well-to-do children and their caretakers flying kites, rolling hoops, and playing with barking dogs. They chatted and ate a light lunch, enjoying each other's company.

"You were waiting for me. Weren't you?" she asked suddenly. "That day you suggested the dance."

Alexander looked up. She sat with her feet tucked up under her, as lovely as a goddess. He relinquished his innocent façade to her knowing smile and spoke truthfully.

"Yes."

"Why?" she questioned, not unkindly.

"I only had four hours. I knew where you'd be and I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"Because I knew you'd be even more beautiful in the daylight. I wanted to see if your smile outshined the sun. It does."

She kissed him then, heedless of the social stigmas. He kissed her back, heedless of everything but her. And the sun.

Mina began gathering their picnic items together. Alexander put his back comfortably against the study trunk of the shade tree under which they had been reclining, looking out across the green expanse.

When Mina had their items ready for departure, she turned back to Alexander.

Through the leafy green branches, the light played shadows on his peaceful face.

He was asleep in the sun.

* * *

Every morning, he watched the sun rise.

He watched the dark sky slowly lighten and begin to exude the soft, lovely colors of awakening dawn. He stood patiently, reverently. And watched the world become refreshed and renewed.

And when the sun's first rays finally touched him, he felt reborn all over again and so very alive.

And he did not burn.

And he did not crave blood.

* * *

Mina Murray was giggling. Alexander Grayson stood before her, his face an expression of bafflement.

"What? What is it?" he asked.

She reached out and stroked his face with gentle hands. His body responded to her caressing touch, to the light in her eyes, to the sound of her lilting voice.

Though he was only dimly aware of it given he was still trying to work out the mystery of her current delight.

"Mina, _what_?"

She recovered somewhat and kissed him soundly. He returned her ardor, relishing her touch, as even as she still trembled with laughter. As she broke their contact, she spoke, her merriment singing through her voice.

"My dear Mr. Grayson, I believe you have some _color_ in your face!"

He looked into a nearby mirror. It was true.

Dracula had a sun tan.

Mina was not finished with her jollity yet however.

"You know, I am most curious to discover, sir, where the exact delineations of your condition are."

He smiled at her suggestive remark.

"You may conduct an examination, if it pleases you, my lady."

She smiled slyly.

"Oh, it most certainly does, Mr. Grayson."

* * *

**Yes, Alexander's going a bit Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Day, I know.**

**But jeez, the guy's been undead for centuries. Cut him some slack, yeah? *winks***

**Did the cat live? Well, depends on if you like cats. I rather think it did. Mina doesn't strike me as much of a cat killer. ;)**

**Thanks to HeartsBurstIntoFire17 and CherryWillow19 for your kind reviews**!


	26. Vestiges of Humanity

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

Still taking it back, though. ;)

The Long Game

Chapter 26: Vestiges of Humanity

* * *

During the course of Alexander's daylight freedom, Mina kept copious, detailed, scientific notes. Of his physical condition, mental disposition, sleeping habits, eating habits, waking activities. She recorded everything she could think to record whether it seemed important or not. Because she knew one day no detail would seem too minor.

These notes, she believed, would aid them in their quest for Alexander's permanently restored humanity.

The records served another purpose as well.

She wanted to preserve these most important moments for posterity. His posterity. One day when he needed a remembrance, she could bring them to his attention. She could read them aloud and remind him of his hope, of his victory over darkness. And it might even help him push through that darkness and into the light once more.

* * *

Alexander Grayson's time in the sun lasted five glorious days.

When his solar serum started to fail him, it began in small bits and pieces.

He tried to ignore that the sunlight stung his eyes, made his skin hurt.

Mina noticed.

He tried to ignore that the food and drink he consumed lost its flavor and its ability to satisfy.

Mina noticed.

He tried to ignore the weakness that seemed to seep into his tissues, slowly sneaking in on little cat feet.

Mina noticed.

Nature itself seemed to grant him a gentle reprieve as his struggle worsened. Heavy, rain-filled clouds arrived to shield him from his growing aversion to the unfaithful sun. He battled resolutely against that monstrous force that came creeping back, whispering its murmurings from the deep recesses within him. And she, the daylight nature that he loved so, saw, and wept her mournful tears down upon the city of London.

And him.

As if attempting to cleanse him of that evil, lecherous thing that sought to consume him once more in darkness.

* * *

And so, under the weeping, grey, daylight skies, they walked together, sheltering from the chilling raindrop tears under a large black umbrella. They chatted about this and that, astutely avoiding talk of that hungry creature which drew ever nearer to the man who so desperately, so stubbornly fled away from its oncoming approach.

At times, they held comfortable moments of quiet between them as they journeyed. Like white, unblemished matrimonial cloth binding them together even as it stretched out over the growing expanse between them.

"It was you who sent me the roses after my examination, wasn't it?" Mina asked suddenly.

He glanced sidelong at her. She was becoming quite proficient at presenting sudden questions and information out of turn.

"Yes. Me," he admitted.

She drew closer to him as they meandered along, the water droplets tapping erratic rhythms on the rain umbrella above them.

"When it comes to dreams, one may falter, but the only way to fail is to abandon them," she quoted back to him.

Alexander smiled. He remembered it quite well. All those many months ago.

"I don't suppose you were there in the black carriage across the street as I found them and read the card, were you?" she questioned lightly.

He looked somewhat abashed but managed to partially contain his surprise.

"Yes, my most _observant_ lady. Actually, I was. I wanted to see your face when you read the card."

Even to him, he sounded like a love-struck schoolboy. Mina however, blushed happily.

"And did you?"

He looked at her, then down away to the glittering cobblestones.

"No," he answered quietly. "Dawn was close and Renfield . . ."

She followed his wandering gaze even as she spoke for him.

"Kept you from burning yourself in the sun for me?"

He nodded and spoke with his usual light aplomb.

"Yes. It seems he has a most frustrating habit of playing nursemaid to me on more than one occasion."

The rain dripped steadily from the umbrella, lending them their own private world while they could still take pleasure in it.

"A good man," Mina observed.

"Yes. A very good man indeed," Alexander admitted.

They walked on quietly for a few minutes, listening to the muted sounds of the world around them.

"I'll tell you a secret, if you would like to hear."

Mina's interest perked up its ears like an alert feline on the smell of a delicious morsel.

"Oh, yes. Please do tell," she requested affectionately.

He hesitated, his memories rising behind his blue-green eyes.

"I was there. That evening. In the shadows. I watched your examination."

She stopped walking, stunned.

"The entire thing?" she pressed.

He smiled his affirmation and she blinked in surprise.

"Alexander, that examination lasted for _hours_. And it began during the daytime!"

He nodded again.

"Yes. It was very important for you. I wanted to watch you excel to the chagrin of those pompous old men who doubted you. And you did. You were precise, professional. You were perfect."

Mina's smile brought sunshine into his rainy afternoon.

"Oh, Alexander," she sighed. "Thank you. You have always shown faith in me and encouraged me. Even when it gained you nothing."

He shook his head, bathing in her radiant light.

"It gained me the vision of your beautiful smile, the knowledge of your happiness."

She reached and kissed him under the shelter of the dripping rain.

"Although, I must admit," she teased him lightly. "You seem to have been somewhat of a stalker at times."

He nodded, unable to argue the fact. If she only knew that extent of that truth, she might not take it so blithely.

"At times," he conceded.

They walked on under the raindrop tears while Alexander's humanity slowly slipped away from them into the swirling mist at their feet.

* * *

The last thing to go was his resistance to consuming blood.

And when he finally needed it, he needed it. Badly.

The need, the hunger, the monster had took immediate control and viciously overwhelmed him.

It happened unexpectedly. On the eighth day.

Suddenly, he was violently shaking in the fire lit parlor of Carfax Manor. And clearly no longer himself. He was in the throes of his renewed hunger. And it was a terrible thing.

"Alexander . . ." Mina began, moving toward him.

He retreated the same number of steps that she advanced, his hand up, almost defensively covering his suddenly exposed vampire fangs.

"Stay away," he muttered darkly.

Mina continued toward him.

"Alexander, let me help . . ."

He retreated further, his face turned away, one hand out to stop her advance.

"_STAY AWAY FROM ME!"_

His roar sounded more afraid than angry. She stopped, her heart pounding in fear.

Renfield stood nearby, calculating how quickly he could move to protect Mina against the blood-thirsty creature Dracula.

But instead of attacking Mina, the last vestiges of Vlad Tepis, Alexander Grayson, took control of his physical form and ran.

Out into the night.

To feed.

* * *

The cleansing water was clear and lukewarm. Unlike many women of her privileged station, Mina did not choose to bathe in milk water. It seemed rather selfish and wasteful to her to use it to temporarily soften her skin when it could instead be given to small children to drink.

She sat quietly alone in the large, claw-footed bath. Her head resting on her hands atop her raised knees. Her dark, wet hair forming a protective curtain around her sorrowful face. She tried to withhold the complete ferocity of her sobs, tried to contain her roiling emotions. For she feared if she let them out entirely, they would consume her whole.

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

"Mina?"

The muffled voice called hesitantly to her from the other side of the door. Alexander. And carried hatefully within him, the monstrous parasite, Dracula. Returned at last to claim him. And steal from him his recovered humanity, his precious sunlight.

Mina brushed away her tears.

"Enter," she spoke, trying to deny the quaver in her voice.

Slowly he opened the door. She made no effort to hide her body from his eyes. But she did try to hide her tears.

She failed.

He had purposefully chosen this moment to speak to her of his thoughts. Here, exposed and unarmored, she could neither avoid nor flee from his words. She could not brush them away or distract him from his planned intent.

So he thought.

His face was solemn and closed. He looked directly into her eyes, seeming to deny himself the pleasuring sight of her body.

After a moment spent gathering his chosen words like heavy stones, he spoke softly.

"Mina, I have been so very selfish for involving you in this madness. I should have left you alone to live your life without my interference. I apologize."

Though he spoke sincerely and without a shred of martyrdom, Mina felt her anger rise up within her. She lashed out at him in frustration.

"Well, it's a good bit too late for apologies now, isn't it? You drew me to you. Made me care. All because you have such goodness and love inside yourself despite what you may believe!"

He didn't know whether he should leave or stay. Smile or cry. Send her away or propose betrothment.

Instead, he forced himself to continued on. His own words sliced like straight razors upon his wilting heart and soul.

"In light of all that has come to pass, I thought perhaps . . ." he paused, then forced the last dreadful words from his increasingly ash-dry mouth.

". . . the time may have come for you to go away from me."

Mina sat still as a Greek statue for a moment as if she had not heard him.

Then a bright fire blazed her dark eyes, fiercer than he had ever seen. She sat up, the water sloshing around her exposed body.

"Don't you _dare _say that to me! Vlad Tepis, Alexander Grayson, whatever you wish to be called! You will _not_ send me away like a discarded mistress just because _you_ are afraid! _I_ shall decide when I shall go!"

Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper, though the fire in her eyes still gleamed.

"And _I_ say . . . not today."

He stood still before her, verbally skinned for his altruistic efforts. And his heart, his yearning heart, his terrified heart, called desperately out of his eyes. He did not wish to hurt her anymore. He did not wish for her to be damned. For him.

And then he heard her speak words he did not expect.

"Now take off your clothing and get into this bath."

Alexander's surprise and confusion registered clearly on his face. Mina did not smile, she did not laugh. She expected him to do exactly as she demanded.

And so he did.

When he was seated opposite from her, she moved toward him without speaking. She lay against him in the warm water and he, in absolute disbelief, wrapped her arms around her, absently caressing the wet skin of her back. They lay in the water for some time, still and breathing together.

Lady Jayne Weatherby slid through his mind. The night he had reclined in her bath. On that night he had finally gained the one thing she had gifted no other man. Her trust. He had manipulated and schemed and deceived to obtain his coveted prize. And then he had ruthlessly used it against her for his own ambitions.

This was not like that.

And yet, he worried the same fate would befall Mina if she continued to stay in his association. But for all his intelligence, all of his strategizing, he could not turn away from the one thing for which he yearned the most.

Mina's love and acceptance.

And so, just for another endless moment of time, he held her in his arms.

When Mina had cooled her flaming ire to flickering embers, she spoke.

"I am not prepared to abandon you to your cursed fate just because I mourn and shed tears for your hard-won humanity. We started this new work together and we will continue this together as far as we can go."

He could not speak, too overwhelmed for words. He should force her to leave his presence, by word or deed. By all rights, he should drive her away for her own safety, for her own humanity.

Rising from her repose, she repositioned herself astride him and placed his hands on her hips and her hands on his face. Then she spoke softly.

"We belong to each other and I am not ready to give up on you."

She smiled and kissed him then and they spoke no more.

* * *

**Okay, let me make this perfectly clear. Our Mina has not completely dropped off the edge or a glutton for punishment. She's just very head strong and loyal. And she's got a great scientific mind that just believes that there is _hope_ for Alexander.**

**I would _never_ intentionally write our Mina as a co-dependent, love-blinded, sex-crazed woman. She's just . . . well . . . adamant, yeah?**

**_Anyway_ . . .**

**Shout out to RKandee13 for your clever turn of a phrase-filled review! I swear I have never heard of "good foot; bad thing" before! Hilarious!**

**Thanks as well to CherryWillow19 and babyphoenixprime for your great reviews. I agree with you. I'd just party til I was purple! (I love being purple!)**


	27. A Dance of Conversations

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

However, this story may be beginning to own me. ;)

The Long Game

Chapter 27: A Dance of Conversations

* * *

"Mina, I am concerned for your well-being. You seem to be drawn with more cares than I have seen in you for a very long time."

Mina looked in her father's kind, bearded face. It was lined with worry for her. She reached down and summoned a smile for the man who had loved her, raised her, cared for her all her years. The man who had never exhibited the least bit of embarrassment or doubt for her highly unusual career ambitions. The man who had held her as she cried for her mother. The man who had gently offered his love and guidance whenever she needed it.

The man to whom she must now lie, from whom she must hide her true feelings and thoughts. For as understanding and encouraging a man as he was, she found it highly unlikely to expect that he would understand and approve of her current state of affairs.

_Yes, Father, I suppose I am a bit changed as of late. You see, I find myself now in love with a man cursed with vampirism and am currently working to make him permanently human again. _

_Pardon? _

_O__h, the parameters of our relationship? Well, as you can see, there is no wedding band upon my finger, but I feel our souls are espoused to one another in a way that no mere bauble of silver or gold can express. Surely London society would be accepting of all this, don't you think?_

As Mina was ruminating upon the unfortunate impossibility of confiding in her father as she had done so often in times past, she noticed he was rubbing and flexing his left arm.

"Father, are you unwell?" she asked, reaching out to him.

He nodded.

"Yes, my dear. I have been not quite myself for several days now. I've been feeling a bit out of sorts and tired, but that is to be expected, I suppose. I am not as young as I once was."

Mina smiled at him affectionately. His kind face shined with fatherly love for his precious child then became solemn once more.

"Now, Mina my dear, no more misdirections. You seem to have become somewhat distant since discontinuing your engagement to Jonathan Harker. Are you discontent with that decision?"

Mina smiled sadly.

"No, Father. That was right for me and I am so very grateful that you were kind enough to accept it."

He put a gentle hand to her cheek.

"Of course. You are my daughter and I support your endeavors. When I know of them."

The last remark was slightly pointed and Mina casually avoided answering it. And so her father continued on when she chose not.

"I have heard you have been often in the friendly company of Mr. Alexander Grayson as of late."

And there it was. He knew. Knew of something at least. She nodded, unable to entirely lie to this dear man.

"Yes. After the Resonator explosion, I was caring for his man Renfield."

Her father drew a deep breath which seemed to strain him somewhat. She started to note his disconcerting discomfort, but he continued on his current course.

"And?"

Now it was she who breathed deeply and gathered her words with care.

"Father, I did not discontinue my engagement with Jonathan to pursue one with Mr. Grayson. It was Jonathan who strayed from me. With Lucy Westerna."

Her father's brow furrowed in distress but he said nothing. Eyeing her closely, he stayed quiet and still, choosing to let her continue her thoughts uninterrupted. And so she did.

"But yes, it is true that Mr. Grayson and I are developing a close association after the fact now. He understands me, and believes in me in a way that Jonathan never did. And we seem to have a deep connection between us that I cannot quite explain in so many words. But I tell you the truth, Father. I did not stray."

Her father seemed to think this over carefully before he spoke.

"I did see you dancing with Mr. Grayson in the hospital, you know."

Mina colored slightly but did not back down from her chosen stance.

"Well, yes. We did. But a dance is not a stray."

Dr. Murray searched his daughter's face. He was uncomfortable with the thought of her and Mr. Grayson, but he had no clear evidence for his growing disquiet.

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But it can be the start of one."

Mina held still, waiting to hear what he would next say.

"Are you happy with him? You mentioned before being affected by his magnetism, but are you _happy_?"

Mina thought carefully on how to respond in such a way as to be completely honest without divulging overmuch information that would only lead to more questions and concerns from her well-intentioned father.

"All relationships require work, Father. But yes, Mr. Grayson treats me well and I believe I am a positive influence for him also."

Dr. Murray considered this. To push Mina too hard would result in her drawing away from him and the time might come when this grown, mature, responsible woman would need her papa again. And if he burned their connection beyond repair, she might not feel she could come to him then.

He took another breath, willing himself to ignore the squeezing sensation now prevalent in his chest.

"I respect you, my daughter and I trust you. Just be careful with yourself and with this, or any, man. He is, as are we all, flawed. And remember your papa, as well, mmm?"

He winked at her then and she knew their conversation had reached a companionable conclusion.

She kissed his brown-bearded cheek and he hugged her tightly.

"I love you, Mina."

"I love you too, Father."

* * *

As Mina was preparing to leave her father's house, she was engaged of the housekeeper Mrs. Bentley and compelled to stop and chat.

"Oh Miss Mina, so glad to see you!"

"And you as well, Mrs. Bentley. How are you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't complain. Especially with this lovely weather we've enjoyed recently," she replied, absently patting her grey streaked brown bun of hair.

"I am glad."

As Mina started to turn away, Mrs. Bentley seemed to catch a word away and so Mina turned back to her expectantly. The matronly housekeeper hesitated, unsure of the acceptableness of her inquiry. Finally, she spoke.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Mina, but I have to ask. Is it true about Mr. Harker and Miss Westerna? I don't mean to pry but I heard talk from Miss Westerna's house staff and rather than believe formless rumors, I feel the need to ask."

Mina set her face into a smooth expression.

"Yes, Mrs. Bentley, it is."

The rotund housekeeper could not completely contain her ire.

"Oh, Miss Mina, I know men are prone to wander, but that man should _not_ have mistreated you so."

Mina smiled sadly and patted the housekeeper's arm.

"No, he shouldn't have. But that association is now over and I am moved on."

Mrs. Bentley seemed to consider this, attempting to conceal her hungry desire for information.

"With Mr. Grayson?"

Mina took a deep breath. There was no secret to conceal. She had strolled casually through the streets of London with Alexander during his sunlit freedom.

"Yes."

Mrs. Bentley nodded absently.

"A somewhat more _mature_ gentleman than Mr. Harker, if you don't mind my saying so."

Mina smiled politely, wondering how far this conversation would continue before she would be forced to derail it.

"Yes."

Mrs. Bentley seemed thoughtful.

"I presume then that Miss Westerna has been feeling shame of her sins. She appears to have gone into hiding with her mother and entire household."

For a moment, Mina felt a stirring of concern for Lucy and thought of visiting her home to console her. But the next moment she saw a flitter of an image of Lucy and Jonathan writhing a lover's embrace while she lay ill in hospital.

And she decided to let Lucy tend to herself.

Mrs. Bentley was still speaking as Mina came out of her reverie.

" . . . with some suspicious characters as of late," she was saying.

Mina tried to back up and clear her mind.

"Pardon?"

Mrs. Bentley spoke again.

"Mr. Harker. He seems to have disappeared out of the social eye recently. Wasn't he working for Mr. Grayson?"

Mina shook her head.

"Yes, but that is no more."

Mrs. Bentley tilted her head knowingly.

"Yes, I can imagine so. And the Resonator . . ."

Mina interrupted her not unkindly.

"I must apologize, Mrs. Bentley, but I really have an appointment to meet. Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time?"

Mrs. Bentley looked somewhat disappointed, having warmed to their conversation though she knew she really shouldn't be engaging in idle gossip. She nodded and Mina pecked her cheek affectionately before escaping out the door.

* * *

"Jonathan . . ."

The female voice floated out of the darkness, in a lilting singsong tone.

Joanthan Harker looked around him, suddenly feeling lost and afloat in his own dimly lit parlor. That voice, he _knew_ that voice.

"Jonathan . . ."

Suddenly, he thought he had imbibed too much of the drink again in an attempt to drown out the wrathful drone of van Helsing's incessant monologues. Or perhaps to forget that he had sworn a blood oath to the highly questionable organization of the Order of the Dragon. Or perhaps to drown out the pain in his heart at the betrayal of Mina and the hurt he had seen in her beautiful blue eyes.

"I have invited no one into my house," he said, trying to sound as gentlemanly irritated and annoyed as he could manage. He thought he only sounded drunk.

"No one invited, no. But given our previous . . . association, I thought perhaps you would always welcome . . . me."

And the lithe, graceful figure of a familiar woman drifted out of the shadows. Pale hair once always just so, now wild and free, green eyes positively glowing from her pale face.

"You," he said a little unsteadily. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled suggestively at him and did not speak. She seemed . . . _wrong_ somehow. And Jonathan Harker discovered that through his inebriated state, he was terrified.

* * *

"Alexander, van Helsing's scientific notes clearly state that frequent electrical shocks of the strength you are undergoing. . ."

He interrupted her, his volume moderate, his tone strained.

"I don't _care_ what the notes say, Mina."

Mina huffed in exasperation, her hands stubbornly planted on her hips.

"You may change your ideology if you start exhibiting some of the more unfortunate symptoms."

Renfield spoke up mildly, as always, but clearly concerned by the current topic.

"Sir, it does sound concerning. Debilitating damage to the brain tissues is nothing at which to scoff . . ."

Alexander turned his frustration on them both.

"How many times must I repeat myself? I shall live as a man or not at all!"

Without another word, Mina nodded and kept her eyes on the man she loved. She worried about his possible reactions to repeated electroshocks of the strong magnitude he was enduring, but she understood the desperation and desire behind them.

And so she would electrocute Alexander Grayson time and time again and inject him with the solar serum and pray that his body and mind were strong enough to withstand the brutal toll it wreaked on him.

So that he may live and walk in the sun as a man.

If only for a few precious days at a time.

* * *

**In case you're wondering, yes, I am a strong proponent of the sanctity of marriage, provided that it is a healthy relationship or is in the process of becoming healthier. **

**But really, what minister are they gonna find to join them in the bonds of holy matrimony? _"Until death do you part. Ahem, or at least until he gets thirsty."_ *winks***

**Thanks to Xkarra of the sandX and andiolina21 for adding your support to this tale. **


	28. A Good Man Mourned

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

However, this story may be beginning to own me. ;)

The Long Game

Chapter 28: A Good Man Mourned

* * *

Mina's father, Dr. William M. Murray, was dead.

He had lain down for a short afternoon repose soon after their conversation and drifted away quietly in his sleep. One of the maids had found him after he had missed several afternoon appointments.

Mina was devastated.

Her father, always a constant comfort and gentle guide in her life, was gone from her. Forever.

Her only consolation in her misery was that she and her father had parted their last day on amicable terms.

And that, if there was an afterlife, her father and mother were now reunited in a peaceful existence. Perhaps they were even dancing. Mina's father had only disliked dancing after his wife, his dancing partner, was taken from his side too early in life.

Being her father's only child and only surviving family member in London, the responsibility of orchestrating his funeral and internment fell upon her shoulders.

* * *

Mina Murray sat in her father's parlor with his lawyer, Mr. Stephen Wilson. The once welcoming abode now held a dim, heavy gloom to its atmosphere. Upon the death of the master of the house, the curtains were drawn tightly in mourning. The clocks were all stopped and mirrors were all draped. The place that Mina Murray once called home now felt alien and unfamiliar to her. And so her heart and mind were heavy with loss and grief.

"Miss Murray, your father was a good man, one of the best I've ever known. He will be missed greatly."

Alexander and Renfield sat slightly apart, yet relatively close to Mina, having escorted her to the meeting upon her request. They were her chosen pillars of strength and reserve in her black grief. She now nodded to the older gentleman with his wire-rimmed spectacles and neatly trimmed moustache sitting across from her.

"Thank you, sir. My father spoke highly of you on many occasions."

The older man smiled solemnly.

"I understand that you are mourning this untimely passing. As your father's lawyer, please allow me to attend to your father's particulars for you, my dear."

Mina forced a polite smile, her decision already firm and unyielding in her mind.

"Thank you, sir, but I would prefer to attend to my father's arrangements personally. I will, of course, call upon you at a later date, to discuss the financial matters with Mr. Grayson's legal counsel, R.M. Renfield."

Renfield silently, politely, nodded an acknowledgment to Mr. Wilson as Mina spoke. The well-meaning lawyer held his composure but seemed slightly perturbed by the young lady's persistence.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Murray, but it not customary for a young woman to take to such matters herself. I will be most glad to take this burden from you so that you may not trouble yourself."

Mina felt her anger beginning to rise, which was a great deal easier for her to suffer than her crushing sorrow.

"My father's arrangements are no burden with which to trouble myself, sir," she replied, attempting to stay calm.

Mr. Wilson obviously was well versed neither in Mina Murray's headstrong personality nor her sense of responsibility toward her father. And, being a long time bachelor, he was not frequent to the emotions of an expressive woman.

"Miss Murray, I apologize, but there are certain proprieties of your social station that . . ."

Mina Murray stood abruptly, her frustration apparent. By gentile decorum, the three men in the room stood with her as well. For some reason she could not voice, this inflamed her temper all the more.

"Then may I live poor and starve in the streets so that I may mourn my father as I see fit!" she declared adamantly.

Stunned and completely out of his depth, Mr. Wilson tried once more for the sake of his dear friend, Dr. William M. Murray.

"Please Miss Murray, this is hardly proper behavior. Don't you believe that your father would want you to . . ."

Mina's anger set the entire room ablaze with the cold heat emanating from her blue eyes.

"Do _not_ presume to tell me about _my_ father! He was _my_ father, not yours!"

At somewhat of a loss, Mr. Wilson glanced behind her to the abiding figures of Alexander Grayson and R.M. Renfield standing at Mina's attendance.

"Sirs," he inquired desperately, "will you not assist me to talking some sense into Miss Murray? I understand she is distraught over the death of her father and perhaps she will heed counsel from you."

As Mina's ire rose to alarming new heights, Alexander spoke up in a most calm, even tone.

"Sir, I assure you, Miss Murray, is perfectly capable of making her own sound judgments. And even if I _wanted_ to guide her otherwise, which might I add that I have _no_ intention whatsoever of doing, I have no doubt she would choose to follow only her own steady counsel."

Mina relaxed somewhat at Alexander's supportive words then spoke her final statement to the overwhelmed lawyer before her.

"Thank you for your work with my father for so many years. I know he appreciated your loyalty. You are, of course, expected at his memorial. Now please, sir, get out of my sight so that I attend to his final arrangements as I see fit."

* * *

Overwhelmed with her feelings of sorrow and loss, Mina simply concentrated on completing each task in its turn in hopes of reaching the end of a seemingly inexhaustible list of duties.

Alexander never left her side. He was grateful and thankful for the brutal electrocutions and burning serum process that enabled him to stay with his grieving Mina during the daylight hours. He remained a quiet support to her. He did not attempt to influence her decisions in any form, save for offering additional monetary support, which Mina of course refused.

During those daylight hours, Mina locked her emotions tightly away in an iron vault deep within herself as she prepared to lay her father's mortal form to its eternal rest. The focus required to deal with all the issues at hand enabled her to ignore her misery over the loss of her dear father.

At her insistence, Carfax Manor remained untouched by the death of her father. Mina refused to allow a single clock stopped, a single mirror draped, or a single window covered.

She willing explained herself to her supportive companions.

"I loved my father deeply. And I will always love him. But he would not wish for me to hide away in the shadows. He would wish for me to live. And here in this sanctuary, I can live and breathe."

And he who only wished to ease her suffering and heartache complied with her wishes. As did the man Renfield, who was growing to respect her all the more for her strength of character and independent nature.

At night, she lay in Alexander's arms and openly wept, releasing all her emotions she had refused during the day. The man who loved her deeply held her, quietly stroking her dark hair with slow, soothing movements.

And when her well of tears had run dry, she would feel empty, hollow, cleaned out. And then she would sleep and dream rich, vibrant dreams of her father.

* * *

On the day of his internment, the funeral bells tolled long and loud for Dr. William M. Murray. He had been well liked by a great many people, both rich and poor.

Mina clothed herself in traditional black attire. However, unlike many well-to-do women of her station, she wore no expensive monogrammed mourning clothing or jewelry. She adorned herself only a simple black dress and a covering for her hair. Alexander and Renfield remained by her side, wearing traditional black arm bands as their sign for mourning.

Though it was considered low-brow for Mina to attend the funeral itself, she went nevertheless. She was as unconcerned with her reputation as she had always been. She had once informed Alexander that only she could compromise her reputation and though her grief strickened her, she still held to that belief.

And now standing at her father's internment site, she and the other mourners gathered to pay their final respects. She did not allow the tears within her to flow. Alexander stood by her side quietly.

He lay a white rose upon the casket of Dr. William M. Murray as did Mina. Then he proffered a simple red rose to her. She took it stoically without a word.

She held it in light fingers, staring blindly at the place where her unseen father lay.

Afterward, the mourning party gathered at the house of one of Dr. Murray's close associates. Mina could not abide sullying her father's memory nor his house with the drunkenness that frequently typified the mourning crowd after the formalities were concluded.

She went home to Carfax Manor and wept in Alexander's arms once more.

* * *

The next day, she rose and declared that though she would always love and miss her father all her days, her public mourning had come to a end and she would not choose to hide away from the world.

She requested that Alexander accompany her for a soothing daylight stroll.

And so he did.

* * *

**Good fathers are very important. Having had a bad one (nope, not whining, just saying), I know the value of a good one. And that is why I gave some extra time to Mina's dear old da here.**

**You may be wondering why I took the time to kill him off if I liked him so much. Well, you'll understand in the end.**

**Thanks to babyphoenixprime and deelove1 for your reviews and input. You are very much appreciated. :)**


	29. Opposite Images

I do not own NBC's Dracula.

My loyalty doth not diminish and my well of words runneth not dry.

The Long Game

Chapter 29: Opposite Images

* * *

"Jonathan . . ."

There it came again. That voice, that sultry, inviting voice. That voice that whispered from the depths of Hell.

"You."

There was no warmth in his single, spoken word. Only animosity, dread, and . . . something else.

"Yes. Me."

Once upon a time, that voice had crept into his thoughts, sometimes goading him, later frequently titillating him. Now he hated it.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

She giggled, a ghastly sound like a siren in the mist.

"Because I like it."

He cut his eyes into the darkness but could not yet see her form.

"Like what?"

The games, always with the games. Never a straightforward answer. Only games, draining games.

"The way I make you feel."

He took a deep breath, trying to quell his rising fear. This time. This time would be different. This time he would make her go away from him.

"And what way might that be?"

Sweet syrup of silky poisoned words dripped from her inviting mouth.

"Sick. Repulsive. Disgusting. _Damned_."

Her words made thick knots twist themselves in his sour guts. She continued to speak from the shadows.

"And your _desire_ of it, your _pleasure_ is corrupted into wickedness. And that makes you all the more delicious."

She was approaching slowly now out of the murky shadows. Her. Lucy. And the poor, trembling soul before her could not fathom a way to stop her oncoming advance and soul debasing words.

She continued talking, hypnotizing him with her green eyes, her floating movements, her silken tones.

"You want it. The pleasure it gives you. And the pain is something you feel you deserve . . . because of what you did to her."

The horrible truth in her words suffocated his constricted lungs, blackened the functionality of his flailing mind.

And on she spoke, as though breaking his resistance further down with her words of smooth, battering steel.

"And when I drink of your blood, destroying your innocence and purity as you once did me . . ."

She paused with a wicked, knowing smile. His aforementioned blood turned evermore sluggish in his veins even as he felt other parts of him tighten with anticipation.

"I gain your memories and feelings. Of her. Of what it was like to kiss her, to touch her, to feel her naked flesh pressed to yours."

She stood now in front of him and his entire being both withdrew and reached out shamefully toward her.

"You leave her out of this, you wretched . . ."

She continued speaking, ignoring his weak protests.

"You see, she never accepted and loved me the way I desired and the way she did you. She turned me away."

Lucy swallowed hard and pushed down her feelings of sorrow and regret. Now was not the time for those emotions. Now was the time for vengeance and retribution. She spoke once more to her helpless victim.

"And that is why I took you from her. So that she could feel such pain as I have."

She sat down next to Jonathan Harker, running her fingers through his dark hair, enjoying watching him fight for the salvation of his better self. And lose.

Because if he couldn't find the strength within him to rid himself of her and stop what she was about to do to him, he deserved it.

She whispered close in his ear, watching him strain away.

"I never thought you actually would take my virtue. That was your sin. I seemed to have misjudged you. And that was my sin."

Jonathan managed to murmur a weak retort that sounded more like a whimper than its intended growl.

"I thought I was taking comfort in a friend."

Lucy slit her eyes at him, unconvinced of his declaration. He had departed from her with such coldness and suddenness that she had surely been no friend, only a convenient opening. But she would not let him see the pain he had caused her. The time for that was now over.

"Well then," she said lightly, cruelly. "You were wrong then, weren't you? My desperate little pawn."

And the creature who had once been Lucia Marie Westerna made the poor trembling soul Jonathan Harker pay for his misdeeds. Again.

* * *

"Alexander."

Her melodic voice made him smile even before he looked upon her beautiful face.

"You."

She smiled sweetly and his heart swelled all the more.

"Yes. Me."

She had gone out by herself, alone, into the world. An important custom she consistently observed to maintain her independence and individuality. He worried for her safety upon each departure though he refrained from making mention. And every time she returned to him, he felt a renewed sense of wonder and gratitude.

"Why do you keep coming back?" he asked, not unkindly.

Mina tilted her head to him as if the answer were perfectly clear.

"You know why, Alexander. We belong to each other."

Her sincere words made his heart swell in his chest. Her continuing faith, hope, and acceptance were more than he ever could have hoped for, ever could have imagined.

"Yes," he replied without flourish or pretext. "As long as you shall have me."

Ethereal Mina. Graceful and self-possessed, without a trace of self-importance. Her ocean blue eyes gazing out from her oval face with its frame of wavy dark hair. Once again clothed in white and blue. As if she knew how much he loved her perfect form in that color.

"You know, I had a remembrance today. Of the day you allowed me to accompany you on a private testing of the Resonator."

Yes, he remembered.

Her joyful, gasping laugh at the bulb lighting in her hand, as if reflecting the bright aura glowing within her. The tank suddenly firing deadly steel bolts. Holding her safe in his arms, shielding her body with his own. The way time seemed to stop as he cradled her protectively to himself. For a brief moment, giving himself completely over to his love for her.

Yes, he remembered.

"I remember the way you tried to hide your smile from me," Mina teased gently.

She sat down on the divan comfortably close to him. Running her fingers lightly through his hair made his eyes slip closed in obvious delight. The crackling fire quietly accompanying their companionship.

"The way you held me safe when the machine malfunctioned. I have never felt more secure, more at ease. I think I suspected something between us then. If I had taken the time to explore it, I might have known then that we were meant for each other."

As she whispered her words fondly, he opened his eyes and looked deep into her radiant blue ones as he spoke.

"I never wanted to let you go. I wanted that moment to last forever. I thought it was all I would ever have to hold you in my arms."

She kissed him sweetly and they lingered together in a moment of time without conflict, pain, or anathemas.

"Mina, I am so grateful you are here with me," he murmured, completely unashamed of his expressed vulnerability.

She stroked his face as he once more caressed her dark hair.

"But I cannot help to wonder . . ."

She looked expectantly into his clear blue-green eyes and he forced himself to finish his thought.

". . . how long this peace can last."

She did not speak immediately, simply laid her head down upon his shoulder and gazed into the fire, quiet and serene. Her gentle touch, her calm presence worked to sooth his worrisome musings. Without a word, she was guiding him back toward his tentative hope, his desired dreams, his enduring love. After a time, she spoke.

"As long as it can."

He absently played with one of her delicate hands. Strong, feminine, and just like the rest of her, perfectly formed and perfectly fitted to him. He intertwined their fingers together, letting his thoughts run free and unreserved.

"You are my light, my hope, my faith. I do not deserve you or anything you grace me with, Mina. But I am so very grateful for it."

She squeezed his fingers with her own.

"Do not fool yourself into thinking that you are the only one benefiting from this association, Alexander. I am so very blessed as well."

He kissed the crown of her head, a smile playing at her lips.

"Really? How so?"

She laughed quietly.

"You are surely not so daft that you do not know. You have always encouraged me, believed in me more than any other person I have ever met. You do not stand on pretention or propriety when it comes to me. You are sincere. Even when you have chosen to hide things from me, you were sincere in your own way. You do not attempt to trap me in the constraints of my gender or this society. I am free to be exactly who I wish to be. More so than I have ever been in my entire life. You love me but you do not demand anything in return for that love. Which of course makes me love you all the more."

Her impassioned speech left mists clouding both their eyes though they did not speak of it.

"I love you, Mina."

"And I love you, Alexander."

They remained in their tranquil repast, alone together. While in the darkness beyond their sight, Alexander's enemies closed in around them. Licking their lips, readying themselves to pounce and rip from them everything they held dear.

* * *

**I wished to give Alexander and Mina some levity and peace here because, frankly, things are about to get down and dirty. The brown matter is really going to hit the fan soon and I just wanted a bit more of the sweet stuff before it did.**

**Thanks to deelove1 and my mystery guests for your generous reviews. And manaradel98, I am very grateful you are still here as well, my dear.**

**Thanks to Kira . with . fangs and bratzgirl for adding your support to this ongoing tale. Always very cool to see new people enjoying this piece of writing.**


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